


Bring You Home

by Jay Auris (nighthawkms)



Series: Bring You Home and Companion Stories [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Big Damn Hero Hermann Gottlieb, Blood and Violence, Canon Disabled Character, Cognitive Distortions, Drift Bond, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ghost Drifting, Hand Jobs, Homophobic Language, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Light Bondage, Love Confessions, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mind Manipulation, Nate/Jake is the slowest burn of all but 80k words in and we're finally getting somewhere, Newton Geiszler Needs a Hug, Non-Consensual Bondage, Oral Sex, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Sex Toys, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Therapy, Torture, We Will Not Forget Mako Mori
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-04-08 13:02:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 62
Words: 161,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14105976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighthawkms/pseuds/Jay%20Auris
Summary: Hermann has missed Newt, missed him for every aching moment of the last ten years, and the thing sitting in that chair, that thing that almost brought about Armageddon, is an infuriating fascimile of the man he once knew.But Newt is still there. Hermann knows it, has to believe it. And if Hermann is the only one who cares enough to get him back, then he'll risk everything to do so.Newton Geiszler is not dead. Hermann Gottlieb will bring him home.(12/31/18: NOW COMPLETE)





	1. Bring You Home: Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pacific Rim Uprising broke me a little bit. This is my attempt at healing.
> 
> (Content warnings appear in the end notes of each chapter)

The bruises on Hermann's neck are still mottled purple and fading when Pentecost breaks into Newt's apartment. The PPDC had yet to quarantine the space, still cleaning up from the wreckage of the fight on Mt. Fuji, and no additional personnel to spare. Pentecost hadn't questioned Hermann's request, had gone ahead and "borrowed" a transport, because he is who he is at the end of the day, a man with a good heart, but also very sticky fingers and a penchant for trouble.

Herman keeps his cell phone pressed to his ear as he listens to Pentecost shuffle about in Newt's apartment. His eyes are locked on the figure in front of him. He hears three shots through the phone, and then Pentecost's voice, "I think it's dead, yep, definitely dead," but Newt's eyes stay wild, raging, unmoored from this dimension.

Herman hangs up and leaves without saying a word. He goes to the wreckage of the commissary, finds a bottle of whiskey that somehow wasn't shattered in the chaos, and returns to his bunk. Then he downs as much as he can manage before he passes out.

He comes to with Pentecost standing over him, expression scrunched in a look of displeasure. "Really?" he asks. "This is your answer?"

"Sod off, whippersnapper," Herman says halfheartedly, swimming in the haze of alcohol and not having any of an upstart Jaeger pilot's sass right now. "I'll grieve how I please."

"He's not dead," Pentecost says.

"He might as well be." Hermann struggles to his feet, swaying like a tree limb as Pentecost takes his arm. "We broke the connection to that damned thing he called 'Alice,' and yet he's still under the control of the Precursors. I've no idea what else to do, I've no idea how this happened!" He realizes how loud his voice is, how soaked in anger and despair. He tries lowering it. "I've no idea what I can do."

"Yeah, 'cause your brain's soaked in about half a bottle of the good stuff. I've got a feelin' that will change when you sober up. Did you really think sending me to shoot that thing would fix him?"

"No," Hermann grumbles, sitting down on his bunk. "It was highly improbable, but I felt we had to try something."

"Mmff. Well, when you can stand up straight- erm, sorry, y'know what I mean, when you're not drunk, come to the lab. Dr. Pitafi ran some tests on Dr. Geiszler's brain. She'll want to be showin' them to you."

"Righto, Ranger Pentecost," Hermann says, collapsing back on to the bed. He hears Pentecost sigh, then flip off the light switch and close the door. Hermann leans over the side of the bed, grabs the wastebasket, and vomits.

After he hobbles to the bathroom and flushes the mess, he lays back on his bunk and stares at the new crack that has formed on the ceiling right above him. His room is deep enough in the base to show minimal damage after the Kaiju attack, just some things rattled around a bit or fallen to the floor. The peace lily in the corner has spilled its dirt all over a carpet, but it's probably salvageable. Various papers are soaked by a shattered water glass on his desk; he'll have to redo the equations at some point, but not right now.

Right now, he just wants to shut his mind off. Exhausted and hopeless, those are the two words that come to mind to describe the state of his feelings. He should be overjoyed, relieved that Pentecost and Namani had successfully stopped the super-Kaiju (as he will be referring to it from now on) from wiping out all of humanity. He supposes he is in that detached, half-felt way that one can experience an emotion, knowing it exists and yet not being able to fit its square peg into the round hole of your mind.

There isn't space to be overjoyed in his head, because right now, Newton Geiszler is still trapped somewhere far beyond his reach, a prisoner of mind and body. The body part wouldn't be too hard to fix if the mind wasn't the forefront of the issue. Newt's still in there, Hermann thinks he can feel it, echoes in his head whenever he's close to the other man, although logically he knows a drift bond takes much longer to create. Still, he has flashes of memory from a decade back, remembering what Newt's mind felt like as they collided with the Precursor hivemind. Sharpness and all edges, impossibly speedy, almost painfully so. Unable to still itself, but full of brightness and overwhelming wonder. Hermann remembers racing through Newt's neurons like a shotput on an electric slide, catching traces of memories that he was never able to understand. He never had time to ask the other man, either. Because Newt left.

It hadn't been more than forty-eight hours after the victory over the Triple Event kaiju before they were screaming at each other again, and Hermann left Newt to his own devices. The drift had taken a physical toll, and the days after had left him mostly bedridden, during which time he'd made the decision to continue on to a new base and new work with the PPDC, while Newt had disappeared into corporate kaiju science. Newt hadn't come to see him before jumping ship. He'd answered correspondence with the barest replies, which drifted off after year three, and now Hermann is beginning to understand why. Ten years drifting with the hivemind... how far gone must he be?

_I'm sorry Hermann, they're in my head._

Hermann had joked a few times when they had worked together that Newt would be the death of him. Friendly banter, nothing like the steel grip of fingers around his neck, Newt's triumphant expression, the dissonance of the terror in his eyes. _I should have seen it_ , Herman thinks, shifting to face the wall. _I would have seen it if he'd stayed. Maybe I could have..._

Should'ves and would'ves and could'ves can't change the predicament. Newton is missing, crushed under the weight of the hivemind, like a diver at the bottom of the Marinas Trench. How to go about fishing him out... is it even possible? Drifting with the hivemind cannot even theoretically be described as similar to two human minds. Hermann has spent countless notebooks of failed essays trying to describe the sensation. To say that it is all encompassing is putting it rather mildly. Your mind is a speck of dust on the back of an elephant, unable to influence where it stampedes.

_Where are you, Newton,_ Hermann thinks, eyes drifting shut from the weight of all he's survived in the last two days. _I see the haystack, show me the needle. Show me your sharp edges._

 

~

 

His mind throbs from the alcohol when he wakes, but it isn't important enough to keep him in his bunk. More pressing matters await. After a shower and a shave, he tugs on an old t-shirt from his Ph.D days and hobbles out of his bunk. The rude and insensitive might think he's always hobbling, but in his mind, the difference of his regular stride and the slow, tired steps he takes now is obvious to any blithering idiot. _Newton never used it against me,_ he thinks, stepping into the elevator. _Insensitive to everything else about me except for that._

Dr. Pitafi runs a biomedical research lab at the base, and is obsessed with studying the drift and drift compatibility. She's considered one of the top neurologists on the planet, and although Hermann's competitive side has lead to their occasional bickering debates at Jaeger tech conferences, he generally respects her work and contribution to the field, which is about as close to friendship as he's gotten with anyone besides Newt.

Her lab is on the fifth level, and when he steps through the sliding doors, she's bent over a microscope, fiddling with the knobs. The corpse of "Alice" lies on a nearby table, and he watches her mutter and curse for a few moments, before clearing his throat.

She looks up. "Yes- oh. Dr. Gottlieb. Ranger Pentecost sent you, correct?" Her accent is posh, RP, born and bred in the capital, educated at Oxford. Swiveling on the stool to face him, she smiles. "I'm glad to see you made it out alive."

"You too. You've, ah, got a bit of kaiju on you..." He says, pointing to the bottom edge of her hijab, which is soaked with some sort of liquid.

"Lovely." She sighs. "It's not blood, so I suppose it will dry. That's not why I wanted to see you."

"Obviously."

She rolls the stool over to a screen and starts typing. "I've been doing some tests on Dr. Geiszler to ascertain his general physiological and mental state."

"What... kind of tests, exactly?"

"EKG, DEEG, MRI, CT, the usual round of testing. Physically he's healthy and shows the expected aging changes from his last pre-Kaiju drift tests. However, the DEEG picked up some unusual activity." She taps an icon and a screen pops up. There are two brain waves parallel to one another, nearly identical, with the wave patterns on the lower one slightly taller.

 "When two pilots are drifting," she continues. "This is what we expect to see. The DEEG modifies a normal EEG to allow us to register the unique brainwave patterns of both the mind and the the drift-connected mind. Two clusters of signals being registered by the machine, visualized as two waves, the more dominant one belonging to the mind being scanned, and the smaller one being the connected pilot."

 "Yes, yes, I've read your studies, Hadiyya. Get to the point, if you would?"

 "Always so impatient, aren't you,  _Hermann_? Here." She taps a few more icons and a new image appears. "This is the scan I took from Dr. Geiszler."

There are two waves again. In the first one, the lines are all over the place, jagged and tall and close together, like toddler scribblings on paper. The second wave barely registers more than a few bumps.

It takes a second for Hermann to register why this wouldn't make any sense. "Wait, was he drifting with someone when you took this?"

Hadiyya shakes her head. "We'd be fools to hook him up to someone when we have no idea what's going on in there. No, this is all in his mind. He's not connected to another person... and yet there are two waves."

"Hivemind," Hermann says, pointing to the chaotic wave. He then points to the one that's barely there. "Newton."

"That's what I'm assuming." Hadiyya points to a pile of parts in the corner. "That's the setup they brought back from his apartment. He's been connecting with them for so long, now the hivemind can drift with him without a Pons."

"This isn't a handshake, it's a conquest."

Hadiyya nods. "One signal has completely overpowered the other. But if you wanted proof that he is still inside that head of his, there you have it."

Herman follows the bumps of Newt's mind with his finger, tracing over the screen. _You are still there. I knew it._

"Thank you," he says, pushing away the horrifying urge to hug her. "I needed to see this. I... I needed to know I hadn't lost him."

" _Bitte, mein Freund_ ," she says, smiling. "Not to downplay your emotions over this, but I'm honestly quite excited to study this phenomenon. Your Dr. Geiszler here is experiencing something no other human ever has! Any information we uncover can only help you in understanding how to help him."

"Yes," Hermann says, already distracted with thoughts of how to use this information. "Without a doubt. Could you send me a copy of this?"

 "Already have," Hadiyya says. "I've sent you all the other data I've collected as well. Perhaps you being so close might help you see something I could not."

"I'll take a look..." He frowns as he takes another look at the chaotic hivemind signal. It stretches up above the normal limits of the signal graph; an enormous strain on the mind. "It must hurt him, feeling this all the time."

"Yes... I believe it does. Adrenaline levels were elevated, and his heartbeat wouldn't slow despite no visible physical exertion. He's been sedated for the moment to allow his body to recover. The hivemind signal diminishes slightly with the sedation, but not completely. We'd be prudent in keeping him under when not being tested or questioned, so as to lessen the pain and stress."

"I'll keep that in mind." Hermann pulls his phone out as he leaves, knowing where he needs to go next.

Artwork by [nateobite](http://nateobite.tumblr.com/post/172281265688/are-you-suffering-over-uprisings-ending-so-are)


	2. Bring You Home: Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for content warning for this chapter

"Absolutely not!" Ranger Lambert leans folded-armed back against the table he's standing in front of. "I'm not allowing you to see him." Lambert's got a haughty look to his expression, like he expects Hermann to back down, expects him to conform to some nebbish intellectual stereotype. Truth be told, he's glaring at Hermann with all the intimidation factor of a baby seal. Hermann has drifted with an incomprehensible, swarming mass of minds bent on his destruction, and Lambert thinks he's going to compare? _You're no Mako Mori_ , Hermann thinks, putting on his best bland, unimpressed look. _And you're certainly no Stacker Pentecost._

"Despite your self-assumed position as leader of this base, I'd remind you that no one has nominated you to the new position of Secretary-General, Ranger," Hermann says, trying to keep the sneer out of his tone. It doesn't work. "Therefore, you are not my commander, and do not give me orders." Historically, Hermann knows that a power struggle is likely to break out after the death of a charismatic leader, and those who see themselves as potential ascendants often are blinded by their own hubris. He's not calling Lambert a strongman of course, he just doesn't think there's enough nuanced thought going on under the hood, so to speak, to lead an international, multi-continent coalition.

Yet Lambert seems persistent, shaking his head. "And I'd remind you, Dr. Gottlieb, that the science division has absolutely no say over who is allowed in holding cells. Security is in charge, and as the de-facto head of the Rangers, security falls under my jurisdiction."

Damn. The man has him there. Hermann stamps his cane on the floor. "Newt was half the bloody science division back when we worked together!" He was also the  _bloody_ half, what with the errant kaiju parts and tendency towards fucking around with tech in ways that should have cost him a few fingers over the years.

Hermann remembers ripping the Pons from Newt's head after the first kaiju drift, terrified at what his damned foolish partner had tried, and what if it had done something permanent this time? What if it he'd blown that infuriatingly gorgeous mind to pieces in some haphazard scheme, what would Hermann possibly  _do_ then? The prospect of not having Newt in his life had become terrifyingly real in that moment. He'd calmed down after seeing Newt was alright, and surprised himself later when he refused to let Newt drift a second time without letting Hermann share the burden. If he'd known then what he does now, about what effects the drift would truly have... well, the world might end, rather than what's happened to Newt.

Lambert nods, expression turning to something more... _understanding._  Ugh. Americans. "Yes. I know that you and Dr. Geiszler were close. And I've had to take enough Psych 101 courses to recognize compromised emotions when I see them."

Hermann attempts a good, quintessentially British stiff-upper-lip, disturbed at the thought that Lambert might be trying to _empathize_ with him, good Lord... "Look here. All I want to do is see and talk to him. Pentecost is the one who wants us to 'take the fight to them,' as he calls it. Newton likely has information somewhere in that brain of his that will aid us in preparing for that. You've got our most valuable resource locked up and under heavy sedation, and you want to leave him that way? What possible harm would me talking to him accomplish?"

Lambert is quiet for a moment, and Hermann think's he's managed to make a point both cogent and penetrable through the other man's thick skull. But then...

"You drifted with him..." Lambert says. "You touched the hivemind as well."

Ah. Now it makes sense. "You're worried I'll be compromised as well," Hermann says. It's not the most asinine reasoning, he supposes, and yet... "You do know the man got this way by drifting with a kaiju for ten years? I did it once, and I don't plan on a repeat experience, thank you very much."

Lambert sighs, presses a hand over his face. Hermann can't say he doesn't entirely see where the man is coming from. As he and Newt are the only two humans on the planet idiotic enough to attempt a kaiju drift, his decision-making skills might be described as 'unreliable.' But he certainly isn't planning on walking in there and strapping a Pons to both of their heads. He itches to assess, to observe, to feel _forward momentum_  on this issue of bringing Newt back. He can't just stand about, letting other people do the heroing. This is his area of expertise, and he will apply it, by god!

"Fine," Lambert finally relents. "Ten minutes, max. Dr. Pitafi let me know about his tests, and he needs to recuperate. The more time he's awake, the more strain being put on his body and mind."

Finally. Hermann was starting to consider how it might be possible for him to incapacitate two security guards without spending a night in his own cell. "I understand." Hermann nods, and begins striding down the hall at a brisk, toe-tapping pace. "I'll need you to make the guards let me past."

"...You already tried to get into his cell, didn't you?" Lambert says, shaking his head. He's got a touch of a smile though, as if he expected nothing less.

Hermann keeps his pace as Lambert joins his stride. "I am a man of action, Ranger Lambert, despite what you may assume."

"Noted."

~ 

Hermann remembers the manic look Newt wore when he left the cell last time, crazed like a mad dog itching to break free from it's leash. Newt's normal self has always been a bit crazed, but this... this was incandescent  _hatred_ for Hermann, and he'd practically fled the room because of it. When he steps inside this time, the scene is much different. He sees a medical trolley next to the holding chair, and an IV secured by tape sticking in Newt's arm. The man looks asleep, eyes closed, breathing shallow. Sweat glues his hair to his forehead, blood crusting on his face from the swing Lambert took at him earlier. He's pale, and cold to the touch when Hermann rests a hand over his. The tell-tale movement of the eyeballs underneath his eyelids signaling REM sleep is absent, and his facial muscles occasionally twitch, as if consciousness is trying to force its way back.

Ten years... there are more lines on Newt's face, and he's less wiry, more filled in, all signs that he's grown older, as they both have. Hermann can see new tattoos creeping up beneath the shirt collar, and he aches to hear Newt explain them in breathless detail as he used to, long soliloquies on the meaning and reasoning behind each one, until Hermann yelled at him to shut it! there was science to be done! I' _m not interested in more of your self-absorbed speeches on how you choose to decorate your body like a bloody art museum!_  Those memories shame him now, a rolling guilt twisted kaiju blue in his gut. That Newt would want to share every piece of himself, down to the stitched ink stains under his skin... Hermann didn't understand that in time.  

_I failed you_ , Hermann thinks, reaching a hand out to smooth back Newt's hair. He stops as he realizes what he's doing, and who is still watching.

"I want to speak to him alone," Hermann says, turning back to Lambert, who gives him an incredulous look. "Please... he's restrained, he can't hurt me." _Won't_  hurt is a different story, if he were to break free. But the steel bonds are strong, and Newt will not break free. The Precursors have stolen his mind, but his body remains human.

"Fine. Ten minutes, I'm setting a timer." Lambert presses a few buttons on his watch, staring pointedly at Hermann, and leaves the room, the door swinging shut.

Hermann leans his cane against the chair and steps over to the trolley. The sedation machine is a simple on/off switch to deliver the required dosage. Hermann flips the switch and waits, nerves exploding like fireworks in the still of anticipation.

Newt's eyes flutter open after a minute, and Hermann has the fleeting hope that the Precursors have decided to just abandon his mind while asleep. But then Newt meets his eyes, or rather, Not Newt, and Hermann knows he is still not himself. 

"Dr. Gottlieb," Not Newt says, snorting. "You know, I'm not surprised at all. This guy, he's kind of an... what do humans say, kind of an asshole, doesn't get too close to people, but he's got all of these _memories_  and _feelings_  about you."

Hermann pushes away the giddy little bubble that rises in his chest. "Who are you?"

"Hermann, my man! You already know I'm not a who, buddy, c'mon." Not Newt smirks, and it's Not Newt... but it's such a Newt thing to do and say, Hermann is momentarily enraged that this thing would take on Newt's mannerisms. Yet he knows that's how it stayed hidden this whole time.

"Fine," Hermann says. "You've taken over Dr. Geiszler-" 

"Really, dude? You think I'm gonna buy the whole 'Dr. Geiszler' routine with what I've seen in this guy's head?"

" _Fine._ " Hermann growls. "You've taken over Newton's mind, and you have failed to enact the plan you possessed him for. He will not likely be released if we detect you are still existent in his consciousness, so there is no point in keeping him under your control. Why not release him? It must be costing you energy to maintain this connection."

"Not as much as you might wish, buddy." Then Not Newt laughs, shakes its head. "I really like your passive rational detachment in this whole situation. It's so... _you_ , Dr. Gottlieb."

"You haven't answered my question."

"And I don't think I'm going to. There are lots of reasons I feel like sticking around, and I'm gonna keep them to myself. It'll be fun to see you scramble around, hypothesizing, trying and failing different things, getting frustrated that you can't help your friend. I really want to see it. I want to see how it _breaks you down_."

Hermann bristles at the venom in Not Newt's voice. "You think highly of yourself."

Not Newt sneers. "In comparison to your puny mind, hell yes I do. Remember, I've been in your head too."

Hermann feels a chill down his spine. Flashes of blue and white memories tumble through his thoughts. Kaiju flesh knitted together, a screaming buzz that overtook all his faculties. It might've split him in two, the terror of being so overwhelmed, except Newt was there, and that meant he wasn't alone in the hivemind. That was enough to pull him free, back to reality, back to Newt yelling about warning Mako and Raleigh and Stacker about the Breach.

"You know the most pathetic thing?" Not Newt says. "He still had  _hope_ the last time he saw you. He warned you about the kaiju brain, practically screamed in your face, and you heard nothing." Not Newt smiles. "That last bit of hope dying, it was  _divine_."

Hermann's had enough of this thing. He grabs it by the shirt collar, any pretense of composure disintegrating. "Listen here. You underestimated humanity twice already. I promise you now, I will get him back if it's the _last bloody thing_ I do."

Not Newt laughs in his face, cackling with a high-pitched glee. "You dare to threaten me, Hermann Gottlieb? I think you've forgotten I hold something dear to you. Here's a reminder."

And then Hermann watches in horror as Newt's body seizes, spine arching as he thrashes in the chair. Newt's head snaps back, and he screams.

Hermann stumbles away, and scrambles to hit the sedation switch as the door bursts open. "What the hell is going on?" Lambert shouts, charging in. Thankfully, the dosage does quick work. Newt's body slumps, and his eyes close.

Hermann pants and grips his cane, hands shaking. "It- It hurt him for fun," he gasps. "God, Newton..." 

"Go," Lambert says, motioning to the door. "I'll get Dr. Pitafi, make sure his vitals are alright."

Hermann flies to his room. It's only when he shuts the door that he lets out a frustrated cry, slamming a fist against the wall. He shudders a breath, then two, willing away tears. Helpless, he feels so bloody  _helpless._ It's like the first drift all over again, Hermann wracked with desperate terror, Newton out of his head. This shouldn't be happening.  _None_ of this should have ever happened! 

Is the hivemind right? Will he be broken by his inability to restore Newton to the good man he once was? He remembers how cancer took his mother, how it felt to sit in her hospital room for hours, watching the disease whittle away her energy, expand and infect her body until the morphine just wasn't enough. Her last few hours were pain, and thank god she'd named him her next of kin, told him to make the decision to let her go if he knew it was too much for her. He had finally called for the physician, watched her inject the heart-stopping drugs into the drip, until his mother's shallow breathing stopped. Then he'd locked himself in the bathroom and wept.

No. He refuses to give up. He will take that last bit of Newt's hope, and he will make sure it wasn't given in vain. Hermann can't cure cancer, but he knows the hivemind as well as any human on the planet. All of his years of research, hard work, rigorous scientific study, they will win him this battle. He will find a way. And he has at least one ally: as Dr. Pitafii made clear today, she will jump at the chance to help him figure out what's going on. _If she gets a paper out of it, and I get Newton back, then it will be worth it._

There's a knock on his door. He takes a moment to compose himself, lest anyone get a mind to inquire what's gotten him so _emotional_. When he's calmed his breathing, he opens the door.

Ranger Pentecost is behind it, chewing on a biscuit stick covered in a bright pink shell. Newton used to eat those... what did he call it, _Pecki? Pooki? No, Pocky!_ "Can I help you, Ranger?"

"Yeah," Pentecost says, sucking the rest of the biscuit into his mouth. "So, Nate told me what happened with Dr. Geiszler. Asked me to check in on you."

Hermann frowns. "That's... oddly genial of him."

"Right? I said the same thing to him." Pentecost grins like a man who's been told a hilarious joke, though Hermann hasn't noticed one. "He gave me some mouth about it, but I figure he's worried you'll crack up and be unable to 'perform the duties required of your office' or some shit like that." 

Hermann snorts, smiles a tad. Pentecost is not half as serious as his father, but he gets the job done when he's called upon, as he proved with the kaiju attack, and with doing Hermann the favor of breaking into Newt's apartment. "Despite what Ranger Lambert may assume, this has only made me more enthused at the prospect of finding out what's become of Newton's mind. The research implications are enormous, and the possible avenues of methodology to cure him are infinite at this point."

Pentecost raises an eyebrow. "Right... that's what's on your mind here."

"Of course it's not," Hermann says, sighing. "But those are still important aspects of the situation. If- _when_  we get Newton back into his mind, he's going to be fascinated by what's occurred, and he'll be furious at us if we don't collect a plethora of data for him to play with." 

"I'll take your word for it, since I never met the guy before the hivemind played around in his head." Pentecost pops another stick into his mouth from a long pink box, and then offers it up to Hermann, who wrinkles his nose and shakes his head.

"I'll pass, thank you. Even Newton could never get me to eat those dreadful things."

"Right. I'll be off then. Oh, before I forget. Reyes wants you to look over some new specs they've drawn up in cooperation with the Shao Corporation, or somethin' like that, I didn't ask too many questions, really. Ms. Shao has taken over one of the R&D labs."

"She's working with the Jaeger scientists?" Hermann asks. "What happened to selling drones to the PPDC and putting us all out of business?"

"You did hear about the whole 'giant three-brained Kaiju tryin' to blow itself up' situation, right? All of the Shao products being hacked by Precursor tech? This ringing a bell?"

Hermann gives him a level look. "Yes, I was in the room for all that, my best friend did try to strangle me during a part of it." He considers for a moment. "I suppose she's going to have developers trying to yank Newton's bypass codes out of their systems for months to come."

Pentecost nods. "Yeah, her code is fucked, but the tech is still good. She can still make plenty of bank helping us develop her IPs into something to hit the Precursors with. Plus, her almost dying probably gave her some new perspective on things." Pentecost looks to his side, past Hermann's field of vision, and smirks. "Gotta run. Need to harass Nate about something. Get some rest, Doc."

Hermann shuts the door and sits down on the bed, rubbing his eyes. He's only slept a handful of hours in the last few days, and he can feel the edges of his composure fraying. The human body is so fickle, what with it needing to be asleep a third of its lifetime. He wastes so much time sleeping, when he could be doing pressing research. _Newton never needed as much sleep as I did. Always wired on caffeine and energy drinks._

He finds a bottle of sleeping pills in his medicine cabinet. Right now his thoughts are racing, and he'll never pass out without a bit of help. A fresh, rested mind is just the thing he needs to begin working tomorrow. So he swallows the pills, shuts off the light, lays down, and tries to sleep.

He finds his thoughts drifting back to the last time he'd seen Newt. Their last fight in the lab, angry screams where just a few hours before they'd been working in harmony to salvage research potential from all the kaiju parts lying about. Newt had started babbling about all the research potential post-war, and that the private sector would explode, the military wouldn't be where the top-of-the-line research was happening anymore, and he had some contacts at this growing company run by a woman named Liwen Shao, they should totally take their combined talents over to her. Hermann had dismissed it, dismissed him, perfectly comfortable where he was at, thank you so much, and happy to continue what he was already working on. Heated words were exchanged. Voices had been raised. Kaiju parts had been thrown onto his side of the lab. Newt had said, _We've got something good going on here and now you just want to throw it away?_ Hermann had responded, _You're the one wanting to walk away from this!_

Eventually, Hermann had stormed out of the lab, and that was that. He'd been moved to a new facility a few days later, and Newt hadn't come with him.

_I tried to fix it,_ Hermann thinks, beginning to feel the pills take effect. _I wrote him, called him. We attended the same conferences. He never had time for me after that._  Except now he knows the hivemind was already at work. Newt had drifted by himself the first time, almost killed himself, the bloody fool. Opened his mind to the hivemind's influence, without anyone there to help him, like Hermann did the second time. If Newt has truly been drifting with the thing he called 'Alice' for the whole of ten years, then he's been without help or protection each time, and its influence would grow each time he did it, again and again and again...

_I could've stopped him, if I'd only been there... why didn't I make more of an effort?_

He falls asleep before he admits the reason to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for letting me know that the PR lore is pretty much fucked anyway and not to worry! I'm still looking for betas, Brit-pickers, as well as potentially people fluent in German and Chinese. I'm not sure yet if I'll be translating, but I'd like to do it right if I do!
> 
> I'm going to try and post any relevant content warnings at the bottom of each chapter, since I don't want to catch anyone unawares. Probably being overcautious, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: Psychological torture, brief physical torture, description of death by cancer


	3. Bring You Home: Chapter 3

"You wanted to see me, Ranger Reyes?"

Hermann is standing before a massive suspended Jaeger foot, shiny sleek blue, with hundreds of small panels welded to form its shell. He recognizes its construction as one of his more recent designs to streamline the Jaeger and reduce its weight, to allow for faster movement.  There are a pair of human legs sticking out from beneath the foot, and he moves to the side as Ranger Reyes rolls out on a wheeled platform from underneath, a screwdriver in one hand, a flashlight between her teeth. Her hair has come loose from her ponytail, and there's a streak of grease on her forehead.

She sits up and spits the flashlight into her palm. "Yeah, I did. You could've called me, you didn't need to come down to engineering."

Hermann shakes his head. "I prefer to meet face to face for these sorts of things."

"What sort of thing do you think this is?" she asks, standing up and wiping her hands on her jumpsuit.

"The sort of thing where you all show me designs and I show you how terribly impossible they are."

Reyes laughs, a bouncing, carefree sort of sound. Her smile is genuine and lacks any sort of tension, something Hermann becomes instantly jealous of, what with how the last few days have been. "Always arrogant," she replies, "I guess because you're usually right, huh? C'mon, we'll meet with Liwen upstairs."

She makes a beeline for the elevators, and he follows behind her. "You're not usually part of the build crews, are you?" Hermann asks as they step into the spacious lift, designed for ferrying large construction pieces to the flight deck. The doors _swoosh_  shut and the elevator gently begins to glide upwards.

Reyes shakes her head at his question, leaning against the back wall. "No, but with how many people died in the attacks, I'm pulling triple duties. Jaeger tech development is what I did my master's in."

Hermann frowns. "I never knew that. We could've used your insight in the labs."

"Nah, I was too busy and too good at training up recruits." She shrugs, shoots him a pointed look. "Not everyone gets to use their degree in the way they wish, Dr. Gottlieb. The military decided I would be better suited in field than in the lab, so there I went."

"I see... well, now that everything's gone to hell and back, I might ask for your help now and then, if that's alright?" It's not out of pity. They genuinely could use the help, what with their reduced science team and Hermann's plan to focus on getting Newt back. He doesn't want to leave his team completely without direction, but honestly, he could give a damn what Lambert or Pentecost's priorities are. Newt comes first. Including Reyes both adds a fresh mind with a new perspective, and will likely get Lambert and Pentecost off his back, what with their seeming affection for her.

Reyes smiles, nodding. "I'd like that. I guess once the PPDC sends the reinforcements they're promising for the build crews, it'll free up some of my time."

They step off on the R&D floor. Barriers have been placed in front of the damaged walls on the right side of the hallway that open into the open air and a straight five-hundred foot drop. A good third of what used to be the lab was destroyed in the attack, but the other two-thirds are still useable, if not entirely cleared of rubble. Thankfully, Hermann's own office was mostly untouched. He'd be less concerned about what tech has been destroyed in there, and more about the boxes he has stored in a closet that contain old tech, blueprints, and handwritten documentation from his time working with Newt. His bunk is so tiny, there was no room to store any of it, but he'd been reluctant to open the boxes and see what could be tossed. Going through that process... it'd be admitting that something was over, that someday they might not just pick up where they'd left off.

Hermann steps over a chunk of fallen ceiling as he follows Reyes down the hallway, and they turn left into an office. Liwen Shao is bent over a desk, manipulating holo-prints in the space in front of her, lip caught between her teeth as she frowns in concentration. She's somehow managed to recover a white tailored shirt and black dress pants, put on a full face of makeup, and her hair is once again immaculate, drawn up into a tight bun. If she was wearing shoes instead of barefoot, she'd be ready for a business meeting. It's frankly a bit intimidating, but also impressive.

Liwen glances up and then back down as they step inside. "You look well rested, Dr. Gottlieb," she says. "Thank you for coming."

"I'm glad to see you're still with us, to be honest," Hermann says, sitting on the stool next to her desk. "I lost many good minds in the past few days. Our capabilities are significantly diminished."

Liwen nods, swiping parts on the prints back and forth, adjusting, checking angles and measures. "I am not planning on staying forever. I intend to continue developing my AI tech for whenever the PPDC decides they need resources to send into the Breach. But I do feel I owe a debt to Rangers Pentecost and Namani, so I will help you all for the time being, while my facilities are being rebuilt." She taps to close the current prints, then with a few flicks of her wrist, opens up a new set and shifts them around to face Hermann. "I wanted to show you first what I found in Dr. Geiszler's notes. It's dated from the first few years he began working for me."

The blueprints show a mock-up of a Jaeger, no different in design from any of the other dozens they've come up with over the years except for one key feature: the head is cut in half to reveal a kaiju brain encased inside. Theoretical equations are scattered below, with another drawing of two humans seated in some sort of connected pod, a Pons-like device strapped to their heads. Below that pod is the label 'Geisgott 1.0.'"

"What is that thing?" Reyes asks, stepping next to Hermann. "That's nothing like a Jaeger pilot compartment."

"It's not inside the head," Hermann says, eyes flickering between both of the drawings. "The kaiju brain would be... almost a sort of relay? The pilots, then they don't need to be inside." He looks over at Liwen. "This is a design for two individuals to drift with a kaiju brain implanted inside of a Jaeger, correct?"

Liwen nods. "Remote controlled Jaeger. Similar to the AI drones he developed for me, but with humans piloting from afar."

"It's like what we did with the kaiju brain," Hermann says, remembering Newt standing on the kaiju in the pounding rain, stabbing the connective junction into the brain, his expression set with a determination Hermann had never seen. That was the moment Hermann had decided he couldn't let Newt take the risk alone. "But we still had barely any control over minds while connected to the thing."

"Look," Reyes says, pointing to a corner of scribbled equations and notes. "It looks like he was trying to develop a way to decrease the strain the kaiju brain would apply. A feedback loop on the signal it sends out. Neural defenses to protect the human minds."

"Newton... you brilliant bastard," Hermann says, eyes falling on the name of the pod. "Named it after us, of course you'd put your bloody name first..." But he's smiling so widely, because this is Newton, this is all Newton... this is the Newton he remembers. The unpredictable, uninhibited brain that launched words at Hermann at a million miles per minute, excited to share what he'd created, how smart he was, to prove himself better and more brilliant than Hermann had first been willing to admit.

"The kaiju DNA would allow these to slip into the Breach, but without sending humans into harm's way," Reyes says. "But he'd have no idea whether the connection would stay solid once they'd passed the threshold."

"It would," Hermann says, nodding. "He's unintentionally proved it already. If he's connected to the hivemind right now, that means it can connect across dimensions."

"But we have seen what happens when humans connect with kaiju minds," Liwen reminds them. "Dr. Geiszler is proof of that."

"When they connect alone," Herman replies, tapping his own head. "Do remember that I also connected. I think... perhaps sharing the load allowed us to protect one another from its influence, in a way."

"It would still be insanely dangerous," Reyes says, shaking her head. "We'd be allowing the precursors access to the minds of our best pilots."

"Well, perhaps this is why he never showed it to me," Liwen says, closing the blueprint with a tap. "Or perhaps the hivemind directed him away from this because it saw this as a threat. Whatever the case, this is why I need you to fix Dr. Geiszler, Dr. Gottlieb. His capabilities are an asset I am not willing to lose."

"His capabili- I am not fixing him just so you can have your asset back, Ms. Shao," Hermann says, growing annoyed. "I don't care what kinds of contracts he signed for you. They're all null and void considering we can't know whether he was fully in control of himself at the time."

Liwen sighs, as if she's dealing with a particularly petulant child. "On this, we disagree, Doctor. Yet we still agree that Dr. Geiszler needs fixing."

Hermann can't really argue with that. "Yes, fine. I appreciate you showing me this. It's given me some ideas."

Liwen nods. "I thought it might. I've sent you a copy for personal use, but remember that this is still intellectual property of the Shao Corporation."

"Yes, yes, I get it... Thank you."

Reyes walks Hermann back to his quarters; quite unnecessary, but he's used to people assuming his fragility and doesn't feel up to demonstrating otherwise right now. He does feel a bit fragile, anyway. Half-aware of the world, half consumed by worry, both for Newt and that Newt believes himself alone or that no one is coming to help him.

"Have you seen him?" Reyes asks as they walk down an empty hallway.

Hermann keeps his eyes ahead, not willing to betray his emotions on the matter. "Yes, I have. He's hurting, and trapped."

Reyes nods. "I always heard stories of the work you two did back in the day. Wrote some essays on you both as well for my masters'."

"We were quite the team, yes."

"What happened?" Reyes asks as they stop in front of his door.

Hermann opens his mouth to answer, stops, and then closes it. He realizes he doesn't know how to respond to that question. "We had a disagreement," he finally says. "It ended badly."

"Shame to lose... whatever it is you guys were, over a disagreement."

"Yes. Thank you, Ranger Reyes."

He steps into the room, shuts the door, and sits down at his desk. His work screen is lighting up with two emails, one from Dr. Pitafi, and one from Liwen. He opens the documentation they both have sent him, and stares at the screen, thinking.

_Whatever you guys were._ Reyes' words come back to him. _We were a team,_ Hermann thinks. _A rusty, broken down machine that somehow kept running, through spite alone._  But no, that's not true. Maybe in the beginning, when they were both trying to prove themselves superior to one another. That competitiveness didn't ever completely fade, but there was something underneath it all. Hermann remembers calling Newt a raging idiot half a dozen times, while secretly feeling giddy that the other man had come up with something so wild and fascinating. Newt constantly mocked Hermann's style and social skills, but then there were those moments, ones that grew more frequent as time went on, when he looked over something Hermann was working on, gave a nod of approval, said something like "Not bad, man," or "Cool," and then returned to work.

Sometimes they went and had a drink at the commissary after a day's work, and managed a meaningful conversation. Newt told him about his mother running off, how he was raised by his father and uncle, how everybody thought he was a freak with too many big words and ideas for a small child. "So being kind of an asshole is easier," Newt had said one night, five beers in, "because then people not liking me makes sense." After that, a lot about Newt made more sense, like how he never talked about friends or significant others, just "Dad" or "Uncle Illia." Newt had called Hermann the "Scully to his Mulder" once, and the way he'd said it, Hermann had assumed it had been an insult until he'd looked up what it meant. A strong partnership, someone to depend on, someone to call a friend, someone who has your back. He'd brushed off the whole 'intense unresolved sexual chemistry' angle before, but now... Now he wonders.

Newt had threatened him with physical violence on several occasions, but never made good on that. Hermann always thought it was because he was afraid to be 'that guy' who pushed around a guy with a limp, but then, Newt had never touched him at all, hadn't even shook his hand the first time they'd met. After the kaiju battle and the closing of the breach, when Newt had thrown that arm over his shoulder, willingly shown him some sort of physical affection, that had been the first time. Hermann had sensed a shift in himself afterwards. He'd only allowed space in a mind stuffed with logic and facts to care for a few people: his parents, his siblings, a few old romances. But now he made space for Newt, opened the door and welcomed him to take up as much room as he'd like. And the space he'd given... it had remained empty. Because Newt had left.

There's still an empty space there, if he's honest with himself. A door he's still holding open to welcome Newt inside, a hopeful hand outstretched for him to take. Hermann feels the word _love_  is too simplistic to describe the emotion. Hundreds of mediocre novelists, poets and playwrights have spoken of love, have abused the meaning of the term, watering it down into a colorless, lifeless thing. And yet it's the only word that fits, in his massive vocabulary of language, filled with technical terms to denote the slightest nuances in the fabric of reality. Love is the thing of it. It is the only possible explanation, the only hypothesis that can be validated.

Hermann _loves_  Newton Geiszler. And he will find a way to bring him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the continually lovely comments, they make my day! I'm going to try to do a Monday/Wednesday/Friday schedule from now on, but we'll see how that goes. Still needed: betas, Britpickers, translators for Chinese/German.


	4. Bring You Home: Chapter 4

The first idea he hits upon is so utterly mad, risky and improbable, that it can't possibly be his own. He knows Jaeger pilots sometimes take on the characteristics of their co-pilots, but he drifted with Newt once! Only once!  _Maybe he just rubbed off on me over the years_ , Hermann thinks, face in his hands, groaning. _Can't even have my own ideas without his bloody influence over them._

The idea is so out of left-field that he refuses to work on it in a public space, lest anybody get any bright ideas about preventing him from doing so. So, when he's been cleared to return to work, he begins smuggling tools and parts back to his quarters to work on in his off-hours. A few things going missing at a time don’t arouse too much suspicion, as parts are always bouncing off under mountains of other parts, falling down vents, being left in larger Jaeger constructed pieces. Also, the benefit of most of the security underestimating his physical presence is that they don't look too closely when there's a slight lump under his lab coat. However, he can't obtain everything he needs in the lab without requisitioning, which would become a problem when he must explain why he's asking for them. This slows his work for a few days, until he hits upon an idea.

The young Jaeger pilots tend to cluster in the mess hall for hours when they're off duty, as he finds teenagers will often do when they're bored and have nothing on schedule, and people watching becomes the most interesting pastime. He takes Ranger Namani aside one afternoon and explains what he'd like her to do. He knows her history, it's been made public enough, and he knows she's smart enough to get what he needs without getting caught. She's a bit wary at first, and he feels a bit bad for asking a teenager to do his dirty work. But when he explains he's trying to help Newt, she brightens considerably, and says that she loves all the Jaeger tech they've built in the past and would love to really have a chance to ask them questions about their work. He promises to answer whatever she likes whenever she brings him a new part, and with the deal sealed, he continues his secret project.

This is how he lives for the next few weeks, working on military tech in the labs during the day, and building his own tech at night, drinking far too many cups of tea for pleasure. He keeps mostly to himself, consulting with Liwen occasionally. Surprisingly, the gaggle of teenage Jaeger pilots seem to take a liking to him, seemingly because of all the interesting concepts he explains to Namani, which she in turn explains to them. Some of them realize that they can cut out the middle man, and sneak into the lab on their off-times to pepper him with questions. He finds he doesn't mind so much. Curious minds should be nurtured, and he misses having an inquisitive mind to converse with while he works.

He doesn't go and see Newt. He doesn't think he'll be able to handle it again unless he's got something to show for helping the other man. Dr. Pitafi sends him a readout of Newt's vitals daily without being prompted. His brainwave remains barely existent, but thankfully doesn't disappear. Hermann's heard that they're only waking him up for food and water, showering, and using the facilities. Otherwise, he's in the chair, sedated. He imagines Newt's muscles atrophying, his body growing weaker. It makes Hermann work faster, spend more time losing sleep to complete his project, because the faster he's done, the better off Newt will be.

And then finally, one evening, he's completed it: a modified Pons unit, designed using the notes and equations Newton left him about defenses and redundancies to build in, to protect him from the kaiju mind. Newt will wear one half of the unit, and he the other. No one else will be allowed to attempt this; he doesn't trust that Newt would be willing to drift with anybody else on this base, and he's also not willing to risk the defenses failing and someone else's mind gets infected. Hermann's gone up against the hivemind once. He believes he can successfully fight them off again.

The problem he now faces is actually getting this thing onto Newton's head and drifting. He doubts Rangers Reyes or Lambert would be alright with what he's doing, as they'd worry about losing his mind to the hivemind in the same way they've lost Newt's. Security isn't about to just let him waltz right by them, no matter what his rank or position. Again, he will need to enlist help.

"This is cracked, you realize that?" Pentecost asks him when Hermann dares to show him what he's been working on. "You're both cracked in the head together, swear to god. He's infected by the Precursors, and you wanna jump right in after him."

"Do you have a better proposal, Ranger Pentecost? Let's hear it. Explain to me your idea for bringing back Dr. Geiszler. I'll need to see a list of theoretical equations you've drawn up, the research you've got to back up your plan, and the tech you will be using."

"Bloody _cracked_ , I swear..."

Pentecost relents though. He even snags a Pons travel case for Hermann to put the tech inside. It won't fit quite right, with the modifications he's made, and he has to trim the Styrofoam a bit, but in the end, it works. A simple silver briefcase, which could hold anything, but now may hold the key to fixing Newton.

Pentecost knows the guard schedules, and bribes two of the engineering crew with a week's worth of sweets ration tickets to start a fight that will draw security away from the door. This lets Hermann and Pentecost sneak past, the former trying to tap his cane to the floor as lightly as he can, the other dragging the case with the modified Pons and trying not to slam it against anything. They make it into the cells, have a few close calls like they’re in a mad-cap Scooby-Doo cartoon, and finally make it to Newt's cell. Pentecost codes in the key, and they step inside.

Newt's beard has grown full and coarse; they must've refused to let him have a razor, for fear of how he might use it. However, someone has given him a haircut recently, poorly done, with jagged edges. His hair is floppy, no gel to make it stick up at odd angles like he'd worn it before. While Pentecost works to set up the machine, Hermann places his hand over Newt's, and again finds him cold, though that could just be the general temperature of the cell. His breathing is shallow, hoarse. Hermann wonders if he's been screaming again. He tries not to believe so.

"It's ready," Pentecost says, sliding the chair he nicked from behind the guard station next to the holding chair. "I'll be watchin’ the signal data coming through," he says, pointing to the screen attached to the unit. "If I think somethin's gone wrong, I'm pullin' you out. Understand?"

"I do." Hermann lifts the first Pons headgear and gently presses it around Newt's head, fitting it snugly with the straps he'd added in case the hivemind tries to thrash it off. Then he sits in the chair and places the other unit over his own head, strapping it down as well. "Don't turn it on until he's fully out of sedation. The monitor will let you know."

Pentecost flips off the sedation machine, and Hermann takes a deep breath, resting back against the chair. He looks over at Newt, starting to stir next to him, and clasps his hand on impulse. He swears he feels Newt squeeze back, but that’s impossible.

Not Newt opens their eyes, looking around. "Well, this is an interesting setup you've got here," he says, slurring his words just a bit. "What've you got planned?"

"You're about to find out," Pentecost says, giving Hermann a thumbs up. Then he presses the button.

Hermann's vision bursts into blue and white, no, not his vision-

it's _inside his head where is he he's falling again-_

 

 

 

_FLASHING AND SCREAMING IN HIS HEAD STOP IT STOP IT LEAVE HIM ALONE-_

 

 

 

_and the kaiju roars in his molecules_

 

 

 

 

_blue and white flashes memories, he is falling through into blackness..._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_GRAB MY HAND HERMANN, GRAB IT-_

 

Hermann gasps and finds himself face to face with the cold metal floor, loud alarms blaring in his ears. Someone is gasping and someone else is talking in a voice that should be familiar but sounds like it’s been twisted into something completely foreign. He thinks for a moment that he's back in Newt's cell, until he lifts his head.

It's a memory, a horrid, horrible memory. They're in the R&D offices of the Shao Corporation, and the alarms are screaming as screens and holo-screens blare warnings and flash words about SYSTEM OVERRIDE, SECONDARY PROCEDURES ACTIVATING. Newt is standing in front of him, holding... Hermann sees _himself_  being held aloft by one hand, struggling for breath, as Newt chokes the life out of him. "I'm sorry Hermann, they're in my head," Newt gasps out, eyes wide and scared, _can't control my body can't do anything stop it stop it please anyone but him I can't lose him_ -

He _hears_  Newt's thoughts, maybe from when it happened, maybe now as they're watching the scene. There's a sharp, painful pulse in Hermann's head all at once, and he grips it, panting, as he feels a pulse of energy, and the colors blur into purples and blacks. Then the scene is continuing... but it's wrong. It's all wrong somehow. By now, Liwen had burst into the room and Hermann should be on the floor, gasping air into his lungs. Instead, Newt continues to hold him as his face and neck pale, lacking oxygen, and his struggling grows weaker. _This isn't what happened_ , Hermann thinks, pushing to his feet and grabbing a table for support. _This is wrong._  He sees tears streaming from Newt's eyes, his grip holding steady, as Hermann turns blue. When he finally stops struggling, Newt drops him, letting him crumple to the ground.

_Killed him I killed him I killed him I-_

"No, you didn't!" Hermann shouts, whirling around. The voice isn't coming from anywhere, and yet it's not the voice of the Not Newt in the scene. "Newton, you didn't kill me!"

_It's over he's gone it's over he's gone goodbye he's gone goodbye-_

"NEWTON!" Hermann screams, as the room pulses in shades of purple and black instead of the hues of blue and white it should be. "NEWTON, I'M HERE!"

All at once there is the void. The void is endless blackness, darkness, darker than anything he's ever felt, all encompassing. The void hates him, hates that he’s there, he shouldn’t be there, he is an anomaly, a threat. The void will kill him, the blackness will swallow him- _no_ , Hermann thinks, _I think not_. His vision clears, and he’s still in the void, but there's a distant dot on the horizon now. Hermann forces himself towards it through will alone, moves and makes progress without taking a step. The dot grows larger, larger, until it takes the shape of two forms, one lying on the ground, being held by the other, weeping over it. Hermann recognizes them both.

"Newton," Hermann calls out. "That's not me. I'm right here."

The Hermann lying dead on the ground fades from the grip of Newton, the real Newton, who is dressed as he was a decade ago, white shirt-sleeves rolled up, showing off all his beautiful, brilliant tattoos- _from when I was happiest_  says the Newton voice in his head. Newt turns his head, shuddering, and Hermann can _feel_  the joy the other man experiences when he sees Hermann, leaping up from the ground to grab him in a tight, enveloping embrace, burying his face into Hermann's shoulder. Herman wraps his arms tightly around Newt, breathing deeply.

"You're here," Newt says, gasping against Hermann’s chest. “Holy fucking shit, is this rea? Please tell me this is real, I need you to really be here right now.”

"I'm here," Hermann replies. "I'm here. I've found you."

"It hurts, Hermann," Newt says, and Hermann can feel him trembling with pain, senses that the hivemind is the culprit. "It always _hurts..._  and I killed you and that was what hurt the _most._ "

"I know, Newton. I know.” Hermann tightens his grip, pushes away the fear that the hivemind is trying to overwhelm his senses with. “I thought I’d lost you too, but I haven’t. I promise, I'm alive. I'm real! I'm going to get you out of here."

"I gave up," Newt says, finally looking up at him, eyes red and blood-shot. "I just, I fought so hard for so long, but then you were dead, and I didn’t think there was a point anymore."

"I'm- I'm sorry," Hermann says, swallowing hard. "If I had been there, if I had seen what it was doing to you... I'm so sorry, Newton."

"How are you even here?" Newton asks. “I couldn’t get out, they wouldn’t let me. How did you get in?”

"I'm drifting with you. I borrowed some of the work you did for Liwen. The _Geisgott_ , really, Newton?"

Newton chuckles slightly. "What can I say? I'm sentimental." He gasps again, hard, and almost folds to the floor. Hermann follows him down, and starts to feel a pulsing again, hear a roaring in his ears.

"It's c-coming," Newton says, gripping his shoulders. "You- you need to go."

"I'm not leaving you!" Hermann says, grabbing him. "I came to find you!"

"Then find me again," Newton says, pushing him away. "Whatever you did... you fixed something. You made it hurt less. It's still not enough. F-find out what you did!" he gasps louder, bending in on himself. The pulse comes sharper, the roar louder. "I'll k-keep fighting again, but only if you p-promise to come back, buddy. Okay?"

The roar is overwhelming. "Fight it, Newton!" Hermann shouts over the noise. "I promise, I'm coming ba-

 

**_OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT_ **

****

****

**_GET OUT GET_ **

****

****

**_OUT GET_ **

****

****

****

****

****

**_OUT-_ **

 

 

 

 

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit!" Pentecost is yelling, and someone is screaming, _Newt_  is screaming again-

Hermann opens his eyes and sees Pentecost shouting and yanking the modified Pons off of his head, while Newt seizes again in the chair. The sedation switch is already flicked to on, and thankfully after a moment, Newt slumps back down, unconscious. Two new figures are also shouting. Hermann shifts his vision to see Ranger Lambert, trailed by a group of three guards, and Dr. Pitafi, both red-faced and angry.

"What are you idiots doing?" Lambert yells, storming over. "What the hell is this?"

"-putting my patient in unbelievable levels of danger, without even consulting first!" Dr. Pitafi is shouting.

"Everybody _shut up!_ " Hermann yells, collapsing back into the chair. They're all apparently so surprised at the outburst, they do shut up. "I have just had a kaiju hivemind and Newton both _screaming_ inside of my head, and I don't need the additional auditory stimulation, thank you so much!"

"I'm confiscating all of this," Lambert says, motioning to the guards. "Putting you both on suspension, confinement to your rooms-"

"You have no right!" Hermann yells, too weary to stop the guards from picking up everything. "You are not in charge!"

"I might as well be, if you both are pulling hair-brained schemes like this!" Lambert shoots back. "You could've gotten both yourself and Dr. Geiszler killed with this little setup!"

"It is based on sound research, Dr. Geiszler's own, and I will not have that impugned-"

"Enough." Pentecost says, gripping Hermann's shoulder. "We've done it, it's over. Dr. Pitafi, you can take the data from that and have a look. Maybe we learned something useful from all this, maybe not. But it's done." He looks down at Hermann. "You look a damn wreck, you need to go get some rest before you start up anything."

Hermann must admit to himself that he's feeling lightheaded, and his vision is throbbing painfully. " _Fine_ ," he says through gritted teeth, closing his eyes. "Somebody, help me back to my bunk."

It's only as he's being helped up that he realizes he never let go of Newton's hand, the entire time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to people volunteering to beta, translate, and all that! It's really appreciated! The next chapter will be out either Sunday or Monday, and after that the Mon/Wed/Fri schedule should begin.
> 
> Your wonderful comments are so appreciated, they're fantastic motivation to push through any time I have writer's block and I love you all for leaving them <3
> 
> Content warnings: Psychological trauma, psychological torture


	5. Bring You Home: Chapter 5

Lambert doesn't actually try to confine Hermann to his room (Hermann wants to believe he'd heard about the fight in the elevator and is wary of any of his security getting unnecessary injuries, but that hypothesis is unlikely to be validated). He does, however, confiscate the modified Pons unit.

"I'm not going to destroy it," Lambert says to Hermann when he gets up the energy to stomp down to Lambert's office and demand it back. "But until we can figure out the results of your little 'experiment,' I'm not giving you another go inside Dr. Geiszler's head. It’s for your safety, as well as his."

The key word that Hermann takes from that conversation is _until_. A few days later, Dr. Pitafi calls him into her office.

"I've been going over the results of your drift with Dr. Geiszler," she says, pulling up another set of DEEG readings. "Look at the difference between the signals before and after your drift."

Hermann almost gives a giddy shout when he sees the readings. The little bumps on Newton's signal have grown, and the hivemind signal has shrunk. "He's fighting back," Hermann says, grinning. "By jove, Hadiyya, it worked!"

Hadiyya grins back, the same excitement evident in her eyes. "Something worked, you're right about that. The question is, what, exactly? I need you to tell me what happened while you drifted."

Hermann tries to explain as best as he can. There were too many sensations and flashes and indescribable feelings going on to include it all, but she seems to piece it together as he adds new details. He keeps talking as she pulls up a screen and starts typing notes, and then opens a few research papers Hermann recognizes, about the effects of drifting on the mind, and one on effects of the hivemind on a human consciousness (that's a Newt paper. Hermann is still a bit jealous he managed to figure out how to put sensation to words and actually _publish_ the bloody thing).

"You said the memory was wrong," Hadiyya says, tapping her lower lip and staring at the screen. "He thought you had died."

Hermann nods. "He seemed shocked that I hadn't.” Convincing Newt that he really, truly was alive, there was a madness to it, the other man not able to believe what he saw in front of his own eyes. Except it wasn’t in front of his eyes, was it? Rather, it was his conscious mind trapped in that void, and Hermann was likely the first real thing he’d experienced in… who knows how long. “Now, I've got a hypothesis-"

"Probably the same one I've got," Hadiyya says, glancing back at him with a smile. "You know what hypotheses require to become theories, don't you, Dr. Gottlieb?"

Hermann grins at her. "Replication, my dear Dr. Pitafi."

~

"I can't believe we're doing this again," Lambert says, scowling as he watches Dr. Pitafi adjust the modified Pons unit on Hermann's head. "This is reckless. Dr. Geiszler had a seizure the last time and Dr. Gottlieb’s heart rate reached dangerous levels. I saw the vitals!"

"You were overridden," Pentecost reminds him. "By both Dr. Pitafi and Jules." He shoots the other man a cheeky grin when Lambert scowls at him. "Cheer up, Nate. 'Least you get to watch the fun this time."

“You consider this fun, Jake? I consider this physician assisted suicide.”

 “Mate, I’ve been in your ‘ead on _several_ occasions. You can’t tell me you’re not interested in seein’ the results of this.”

“That’s beside the point!”

“Nah, that’s exactly the point. Now shut that pretty mouth of yours an’ watch the festivities.”

Lambert frowns. “That’s the second time today you’ve called my mouth pretty. Is this a thing where you try and fluster me to get me to stop pointing out your bad ideas? I’ll have you know I am very comfortable in my masculinity.”

“As am I,” Jake replies, winking. “Very comfortable in your masculinity, I mean.”

Hermann rolls his eyes at their ludicrous and abject flirting, adjusting into the much more comfortable chair they've provided him with this time. "If you're both done being ridiculous, I'm ready to begin this."

"You need to be more careful this time," Hadiyya says, adjusting the strap under Newt's chin. She’s gentle in her work, ensuring the fit is snug but not overly so. Hermann appreciates this, appreciates it because it’s so opposing to how people have seen fit to treat Newt lately. "You were able to catch the hivemind unawares last time, but it will probably have a clue now. It's still strong. Find a memory quickly."

"I shall endeavor to do so," Hermann says. He looks over at Newt, still sedated. The twitching in his face has diminished, and his breathing is stronger than it was last time. Hermann clasps his hand again, and then nods. "Let us begin, post haste."

The hivemind reacts more aggressively this time when it wakes. "You foolish, pathetic creatures!" Not Newt shouts, thrashing in the seat. Hermann grips his hand tightly, refusing to let go. "This won't work like you-"

Hadiyya flips the switch.

 

_DOWN_

 

_DOWN_

 

_DOWN_

 

 

_DOWN_

 

_DOWN_

 

**_the void sees it knows it sees it knows it_ **

 

_-hear me Newton?_

 

_find me f-_

 

_i-_

 

_n-_

 

d-

 

 

_here_

 

 _here here here here-_  

 

_THERE_

"You're wrong!" he shouts.

No, it's his voice, but Hermann isn't shouting.

"There should be three kaijus, not two!" his voice continues.

It's cold and wet and Hermann feels the thick, porous mud under his hands. It's dark, and the rain pounds heavily, and there is rustling from nearby. Hermann struggles to his feet, recognizes the scene instantly. Hong Kong, ten years back. Bright, spotlights. The baby kaiju. Hannibal Chau, just devoured. And he and Newt yelling at one another through the storm.

"-argue about any mistakes you made in your predictive model in the future!" Memory Newt is saying. "But in the meantime, the neural interface is way off the charts-!"

Hermann observes, taking in the scene, trying to pick out the details that match what he remembers. _What's wrong here, something will be wrong, let me see it-_  He gasps out when he feels the pulse again, sees the world flicker into shades of purple and black. Then he focuses on Newt's voice again.

"C'mon, you know you want to see this!" Newt is saying, holding out a second Pons unit. "It'll be a fantastic chance to once again prove you wrong-"

"I will not be dragged into your schemes, Dr. Geiszler!" Memory Hermann is saying. "Find someone else's mind to fry!" He turns to leave. Memory Newt lashes out and grabs his cane- _Newton would never, he would never, this is wrong-_  and yanks it away, causing Memory Hermann to fall to the ground.

"You're coming with me buddy, whether you want to or not," Memory Newton says, using Memory Hermann’s dazed moment to jam the Pons onto his head. Then he grabs the remote and slams the button.

_-made him come forced him horrible can't be trusted-_

"I wanted to!" Hermann shouts, closing his eyes, trying to sense through the ripping rainstorm, trying to find the real Newt amid the chaos. "I didn't think you were right, but I didn't want you to go alone! You didn't force anything, Newton. I came because I couldn't let you get hurt again."

The sound of the rain vanishes. His clothes are no longer soaked with water. Hermann opens his eyes to the void again. This time, there's a door a little way off, with a beam of light peeking through underneath. Hermann walks up to it and turns the knob, opening the door.

He recognizes the bunk immediately. Posters of animated Japanese cartoons, mixed with scribbled drawings of kaiju line the walls. A beat-up, wooden side table is covered in empty drink cans, food wrappers, bits of paper, pencils, and a lamp that emits a warm golden glow. There are shirts and pants and boxers scattered about, overflowing out of the small hamper at the foot of the twin bed. The closet door is ajar, and Hermann can see the black boots Newt would stomp about in on his days off.

The sheets of the twin bed are mussed. Lying back against the headboard, tuning a battered acoustic guitar, is Newt. He smiles when he sees Hermann. "Hi," he says, putting down the guitar. "Wanna join me?"

Hermann sits on the edge of the bed, then scoots closer to Newt. Hesitates, then leans in and wraps his arms around the other man in a hug.

"Yeah," Newt says. "I'm about the same."

"How did you- last time, you were hurting," Hermann says as he pulls back. "You were worse."

Newt nods, and then flinches a little, presses a hand to his head. "You're fixing me. I don't know how, and do you know how pissed I am about that?" He motions around. "I made a place for myself. When I have the energy, I can hide away here. It doesn't always work." Even now, Hermann sees the walls rippling, tears forming in the illusion. "I can't hold it for long."

"It's the memories, Newton," Hermann says. "The memories are all wrong. I wanted to go with you into the drift."

"I know now," Newton says, nodding. "I just didn't until you told me. But when you did, the real one came back." Hermann gets flashes of it now - _you would do that for me? -_  and the feeling of an attempt of a handshake. "It hurts less. I- I'm feeling more like myself."

The holes in the illusion are growing larger. Hermann hears the distant roar of the kaiju. "We haven't got much time," he says. "You need to find more memories, Newton. Find the ones marked in blacks and purples, the ones where the pulse is the strongest."

"You know how crazy you sound right now? About as crazy as I am."

Hermann grins, gasps as the kaiju roars louder. "I promise I won't leave you in here, you know that, don't you?"

He shivers when Newt presses a hand to his cheek. "We're kind of in this whole mess 'cause I didn't trust you, dude," Newt mutters. "I'll try a little harder this time."

"What do you me-

 

 

 _UPUPUPUP_  

 

_UP_

 

 

_UPUPUP_

 

_UP-_

"It's off, it's off," Hadiyya says as Hermann opens his eyes. "He's back."

Newt isn't screaming this time, thank god, but he is twisting and whimpering in pain. "Put him under," Hermann gasps, trying to sit up. Newt’s hand is still in his, but has gone cold and clammy. "Please-"

"It's fine," Pentecost says, flipping the switch. "See? There, he's calmin' down."

"We were right, Hadiyya," Hermann pants. "It's the distortions in his memory. They're how the hivemind is keeping hold of him."

"If we could find all of them, could we get rid of it for good?" Hadiyya asks.

"There could be hundreds of memories they've clung onto," Lambert says, shaking his head. "Thousands, even!"

"No." Hermann shakes his head, watching Newt lie quietly, the twitching of his body vanished completely. "He- he'd be different, much more so, but he's not. He's still got the same personality, the same general traits. If they'd modified all of his memories, it would affect his entire developmental history. He's still himself. They must have chosen specific memories. Things- things that are important to him in some way, things that can be changed to make him feel hopeless, make him lose his connection to the world..."

"He's going to need time to rest," Hadiyya says, checking Newt's pulse at the neck. "Recover. His body won't last if we go about this too quickly. We can't fix this overnight."

Hermann knows this, he does, but all he wants to do right now is dive back in and find another piece of Newt to put back together. "How long?" he asks, taking the glass of water Pentecost offers him and gulping it down.

"Hmmm..." Hadiyya's eyes shift over the vitals. "Realistically, no more than one drift per week."

"That's-"

"As much as I'd be comfortable with," she says, speaking to him softly, as if needing to be gentle breaking the news. "As he gets more control back, it's likely going to cause even more of a strain. The hivemind will have to fight harder. He may get worse before he gets better. I know you want him back, Hermann, but you need to be patient."

"I'm willing to let you try this," Lambert says, folding his arms. "But only if you follow Dr. Pitafi's orders. You're too-"

"I know, I know!" Hermann growls. "Too _emotionally compromised_ , bloody hell..." He tries to stand but finds he doesn't have the energy. "Drat it all... Someone give me a hand up."

When he gets back to his room, he falls into bed and sleeps for fourteen hours straight. After that, Hermann is begrudgingly forced to accept that Hadiyya is probably right about the timeline. If they go about this incorrectly, they risk both Newt and himself becoming incapacitated. He needs patience.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm 40,000+ words into the rough draft right now, and still pumping along. Thank you as always to everyone for leaving such lovely, thoughtful comments. I wouldn't have the motivation to write this otherwise.
> 
> Next chapter should be up on Wednesday, which should get us started on a Mon/Wed/Fri rotation.
> 
> Content warning: Psychological trauma.


	6. Bring You Home: Chapter 6

It's bloody _hard_ to be patient when you know what's wrong and how to fix it, Hermann finds by day three. He's running out of things to accomplish in the lab, he's looked over the collected data from both of his drifts with Newt a dozen times, and now he's considering  _making conversation_ , just to keep himself distracted in some manner.

"Come watch me 'n Jules spar," Pentecost says to him on day four. "We're havin' a couple matches for the kids to watch. It'll be fun."

"How is my watching you two beat each other half to death considered 'fun' in any way?"

"Dunno. Maybe you'll pick up some tips, although I heard you an' Dr. Geiszler gave Liwen's security a run for their money."

"Yes, I suppose we did." Hermann tries to imagine that moment with fondness, but finds it's marked with doubt over who was in control of Newt's body at that point... who exactly he had hugged in a brazen display of public affection. Well, if it wasn’t really Newt, he’ll certainly be finding excuses to make up for it later. "But I'm still not interested. Thank you for the offer... I don't suppose you're taking bets though? I'll place a twenty on Reyes if you are."

Pentecost presses a hand to his chest, mimicking shock. "That's how it is, Doc? One day I'm your best bud for breakin’ and enterin’, and now you've lost faith in me?"

Hermann chuckles, nudging Pentecost aside with his cane. "Certainly not. I've just seen how you look when Reyes is furious with you. You fold like an Einstein-Rosen Bridge."

Instead of Pentecost’s suggestion, he takes the elevator all the way to the top of the Shatterdome, stepping outside to the brisk sea air hitting his face. [The roof holds a breathtaking view of the blue, endless horizon stretching away from Hong Kong, ](http://doodledroid.tumblr.com/post/174366977910/noticed-i-havent-posted-anything-in-the-longest)but that’s not his concern today. He strides over to the greenhouse, a glass building in the center of the roof, with trails of vines growing up the sides in a thick protective layer.

Inside the greenhouse is a garden, more for those living on the base to enjoy than to produce agriculture. Brick pathways twist and turn through the foliage, trees and bushes of all varieties tower over and squat underfoot, vines with bright, blossoming flowers hang from the ceiling. The air is completely still, no open windows or blowing fans, no need, as they would only serve to distract from the peaceful stillness of the place.

Towards the back of the garden, if you follow the pathway through the tallest copse of trees, is a small pond, covered in water lilies, backed by a trickling waterfall. The brick walkway in front of the pond widens into a large, circular stone patio, with a bench sunk into the cement at the back. The stones on the patio are engraved with names: those of Jaeger pilots lost in the past wars. Stacker's stone is here, faded with time, and someone has shifted the stone that must have been next to it, replacing it with a shiny new one, engraved: MAKO MORI: 2003-2035 _._

Hermann sits on the bench, staring at the pond. He's brought a small box but doesn't feel like opening it yet.

"You know, I conceive that I'm invariably talking to no one," he says. "I am an atheist by nature, Mako. The concept of a deity or an afterlife is lost on me. I work in hard numbers, facts, science. Religion is a clustering of hypotheses with no validity or reproducibility. You are not here just because a stone exists here with your name on it. I- ehm, I'm sorry. This is all rather nihilistic, isn't it? I deny your existence, and yet continue to talk as if you are here. You _were_ here, Mako, not that long ago...

“I admired you," he continues, tapping his cane in a rhythmic pattern. "Did you know that? I admired your physicality, your kindness, your nature to be welcoming to everyone, no matter their gender, ability or orientation. I- I wasn't expecting this, that you would go before myself. You were younger than me... thirty-two, I believe? Still, not the youngest to die. One of those teenage pilots died during the last fight, Mako. Barely more than a child."

He opens the cardboard box. Inside, there is a small oblong-shaped porcelain bowl, matchsticks, and longer sticks colored with deep red incense. "We send children to war now, Mako. Obviously, you would've preferred them to be older before they had to take up the fight, but we ran out of time. I suppose you knew that might happen, though. You were the one who suggested the whole teenage pilot program. I remember Raleigh and you arguing over that, but you stood your ground. Listened to his concerns but continued to voice your stance. I understand why he conceded, eventually. He’s never been able to bring himself to disappoint you."

Hermann lifts the bowl out of the box. Sliding off the bench and huffing as his knees hit the ground, he places the bowl in front of Mako's stone. "You know, I have no idea what I'm doing," he says, placing a stick of incense into the bowl. "You never talked about your religious beliefs, at least not with me. I read up a bit on Japanese funeral rites, though. Sitting with the body, cremation, shrines, all of that. I can't do any of those things. This though, I think I can do." He takes a match stick, lights it, and then lights the incense. Blowing it out, he watches the smoke rise from the smoldering end, up towards the sky, fading into nothing.

"Now, I was supposed to do this every day for the first seven days, and then every seventh after that until the forty-ninth one. So... let's pretend we're at day one. If nothing else, this will give me something to do until I can see Newton again."

He closes his eyes, breathes in the air, greenery scent tinged with incense. There is no sound in here except for the trickling water. If he strains, he can sense Newton far below him, an impossibility of connection that just happens to exist anyway. The sense has gotten stronger after the last two drifts. It will likely only grow stronger as time goes on. Hermann has already made his peace with that, the idea that if he wants to save Newton, he's going to have to put up with Newton  _in his actual head_  for the rest of his bloody life.

When he doesn't smell the incense anymore, he opens his eyes. Time has passed, much more time than he'd expected. His knees are screaming to shift, and he uses his cane to leverage himself up, then carefully replaces the bowl and the sticks in the box, and leaves the box tucked under the bench. He doubts anyone will come by and mess with it.

"I'm going to bring him back, Mako." Hermann says, leaning over to wipe away some of the ash that has collected on her stone. "We've got another ten months until Obon swings around. That should be enough time to cure him. We'll go to Tokyo and light a lamp for you next August. I'll let him do the lighting, since he'll whine like a child otherwise." He sniffs a bit as he stands, touches his cheek. Feels the surprising trickle of wetness there. "Ah... I'll see you tomorrow."

He thinks he feels a breeze ruffling his hair as he leaves, but that's impossible.

 

~

 

His new ritual helps him stay focused and less anxious. The near silence of the greenhouse also allows him to sense the faint connection to Newt better than anywhere else in the facility. It's the only contact he'll allow himself for now. Still, it's not enough. By the time Hadiyya gives him the all clear to drift again, he's practically banging down the cell door.

When they bring Newt out of sedation this time, he doesn't speak, just breathes heavily, glaring at Hermann, body tense and fists tight. "W-won't work," he finally stammers. "C-can't have him back-"

"He's fighting it harder now, it has less control," Hadiyya says. "Ready yourself, I doubt it will give you an easy time." Then she presses the button.

He rolls through a tunnel of colors, brilliant splashes as the world _EXPLODES-_

 

_ROLLING_

_ROLLING_

 

_through here, Hermann, come-_

 

**YOU SHALL NOT** _HERMANN GRAB MY_   **NO**

 

**JAGGED PURPLES AND BLACKS AND SHARP POINTS OF PAIN DOWN YOUR SPINE IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED**

 

 

 

_-I'm sorry, it's blocking that, we'll have to find another, here go go go go-_

This time, he opens his eyes to a bright, shining sun above. He can feel grass beneath his back, and a warm summer breeze ruffling his hair. When he sits up, he finds himself in an open field, surrounded by a cluster of tall pine trees. There's the sharp scent of smoke somewhere. Turning his head, he sees a broken-down wood shack to the left of him, with smoke wafting from the rafters.

A man comes out of nowhere, running past Hermann, full tilt into the shack. He's tall, limber, brown hair, familiar eyes...

The pulse hits, purples and blacks. It doesn't hurt quite as much this time.

"-Stupid fucking idiot of a child!" Someone is screaming. Hermann stands up and limps to the shack, watching as a child dashes out, a glass tube shattering in his wake. The boy can't be more than ten or eleven. Wiry, hair sticking out at all ends, dressed in a black t-shirt with a swirling galaxy on the front. The tips of his locks are singed, and ash covers his face, though not his eyes, which are covered by large plastic goggles. Speaking of those eyes...

Hermann calls out, even though he knows the boy won't hear him. "Newton...?" It must be. He's in a memory long before he came to work with the other man, which means he's out of his depth.

The other man storms out of the shack, holding the smoldering remains of what is obviously Newton's latest science experiment, sparking wires and burnt metal. There's cold fury in his eyes as he shouts at the boy. "I bought you expensive equipment and this is what you do with it? Do you take me for a fucking idiot, Newton Geiszler?!"

"I'm sorry, dad!" Boy Newt shouts, wiping the ash from his hair. "I was just trying to create a cold fusion generator!"

Newt's father tosses the equipment to the ground, stalks over to his son, and smacks him across the face. Hermann resists the urge to lunge at him, knowing if he tries to touch the man, his hands will likely pass through empty space.

"Never again, Newton, do you hear me? Back to the house, _now_ ," he says, stalking past the boy. Hermann hears the man mutter, loud enough for the boy to hear, "No wonder your mother never comes to visit." He keeps walking, leaving the boy to gather the remains of his experiment, eyes shiny with tears.

_-nothing but a nuisance, too much trouble for dad to handle, mom was smart to leave us-_

"No, I- that can't be true, Newton!" Hermann says, watching the boy gather up broken circuit boards and wiring. "I don't know what's happened here, but... it can't be. You told me about your parents, said your father loved you, and I know your mother was absent, but..."

The world begins to fade into black and purple around him. This isn't like last time. He feels the pulse, a sharp knife down his spine, and he cries out, falling to the ground.

_-can't change this Hermann, you don't know what's here, so you can't fix it-_

The void. The kaiju roar. No Newt. No Newt no Newt no Newt _no NO NO NO NONONONONONONO-_

 

 

 

 

 

 

**I TOLD YOU**

 

 

 

 

 

Herman is shouting as he comes out of the drift, hopping mad, fists pounding into the arms of the chair. Next to him, Newt lets out short, crazed cackles as he thrashes in the chair.

"What happened?" Hadiyya says, switching on the sedation. "His signal got weaker, Hermann, what did you do?"

"It's what I couldn't do, bloody hell!" he says, yanking off the modified Pons. "I can't fix his memories if I'm not a part of them! The hivemind has touched things that happened before we knew one another."

"And you couldn't just convince him it was wrong?" she asks, grasping Newt's now prone arm to check his pulse.

"Apparently not," Hermann says, dropping back against the chair and sighing. "Blast it. I need someone who knew him back then. He never mentioned friends, or siblings, and I know his father has passed on." His eyes light up with a sudden remembrance. "Wait..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised I wouldn't forget Mako. She'll be coming up again throughout this fic, and potentially in flashbacks much later on.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for their help with this so far!
> 
> Thanks to [doodledroid](http://doodledroid.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for drawing the scene linked to above!
> 
> Content warning: Physical/Emotional abuse of a child


	7. Bring You Home: Chapter 7

Illia Geiszler strides off the transport. He’s instantly recognizable as Newt’s uncle, same rounded jawline, tall, wide forehead, and unruly hair that can never be tamed, although Illia’s is almost completely white. He’s carrying a large box under one arm, trailed by two security officers and three suitcases.

"I guess he's here for the long haul," Lambert mutters to Hermann as Illia walks over.

"Mr. Geiszler, thank you for coming," Hermann says, holding out a hand as he approaches. "I'm-"

"I know who you are," Illia says. "Where's my nephew?" He doesn't take Hermann's hand.

"We'll take you to him," Lambert says. "Let me take that for you."

"No." Illia shakes his head. "This stays with me until I see Newton."

"...Very well," Hermann says, turning around. "Let's go."

They walk silently next to one another, not speaking. Hermann expected Illia to be, well, not quiet, composed, cold. More like Newt. Open, loud, chaotic, but warm. Warm like the toss of an arm over his shoulder, a press of heat against his side, a mumbling in his ear, _you were amazing out there-_

Hermann stands to the side as Lambert punches in the code for the cell and lets Illia enter first. The older man pauses as he enters the room, staring at Newt's still form. Hermann can see his arms tense, his stance falter. After a moment, he steps forward, and Hermann follows him inside.

Illia lowers the box to the ground and comes to stand next to the holding chair. "Newton," he mumbles, eyes locked to his nephew, darting across his body, to the cuffs keeping him in place, the bruises formed around the skin there from his thrashing about. Hermann observes the emotions that flash across his expression, a microcosm of grief, as anger, despair and acceptance all blend into one. Illia reaches out, and strokes a hand over Newt's hair, a gesture that can't be mistake for anything but deep, painfully raw love. Hermann's resisted the urge to do the same so many times now.

Illia looks up at Hermann, finally. "Tell me what's happened," he says. "Tell me everything."

So, Hermann does. He starts at the beginning of the end, after the first kaiju drift, explaining their separation, and what he expects Newt had been doing all this time. He explains the Geisgott blueprints, the modified Pons, the drifting, the memory he has no reference for.

"You see now, why I need your help?" Hermann says finally. "This thing, it's distorted his mind so thoroughly, but I cannot fix those distortions without knowing what should go in their place."

Illia nods. He's been stroking Newt's hair this whole time, and somehow, Newt looks more relaxed than before.

"You know, I used to do this," Illia murmurs, "when he was a boy. When he couldn't sleep, and when storms scared him. You know he used to be frightened of thunder? Only when he was very young."

"I... I didn't," Hermann says. He suddenly feels so out of his depth, no longer the expert on Newt in the room. There’s an entire history he has never been privy to, things that Illia knows but Newt neglected telling Hermann about, and this is just another part of the unfairness of the whole bloody situation. Newt should be able to decide what parts of his past he wants to reveal. But in the choice between maintaining Newt’s privacy and saving him, Hermann highly suspects Newt will be alright with this.

"He was frightened of a lot of things," Illia continues. "And yet he would always dive head-first into danger if it meant learning something new."

Hermann smiles, shoving his hands into his pockets so he won’t reach out to copy Illia’s petting. "He hasn't changed much then."

Illia looks up at him. "I know. I kept in contact with him when he got older. Always sending me emails about the crazy things he was building, thanking me for teaching him the basics. He talked about you a lot, too."

"Really?" Hermann asks, feeling a bit of a blush creep up. "I suppose nothing good."

"Well, not at first, but after a while, it was less of how much of a bastard you were, his words, not mine, and more of how you two had been arguing, and he was going to prove you wrong, but maybe you'd prove him wrong, and you'd both learn something for it. And then later, he'd talk about what you were doing in the lab, and how infuriating it was that you wasted your 'stupidly amazing mind' on incorrect hypotheses. And then even later, you were pretty much the focus of every correspondence. I read between the lines." He leans down for a moment, and comes back up with the box, which he holds out to Hermann.

"What's this?" Hermann asks, taking the box and setting it down on the trolley. He opens the top to see stacks of notebooks in varying colors, bindings and sizes.

"Newton kept extensive journals," Illia says as Hermann picks up the top one. He flips open to the first page, and sees the familiar chaotic handwriting, interspersed with tiny drawings, little kaiju running around the page, illustrations of galaxies crashing into each other, and a short, fat-headed humanoid with giant eyes, in the style of what Newt had once told him was called ‘chibi.’ "These are all from between ages eight to about twenty-one, twenty-two. He asked me to hold onto them, thought there were ideas he'd want to go back to. What does a twenty-two-year-old know, I guess?"

"How often did he write?" Hermann asks, flipping to the next page. These were from before he and Newt began corresponding through letters. There are equations and research notes, but also entries about his life. Hermann smiles as he reads one. _So today I met this totally hot babe, and she was definitely into me. All about this big ol' brain._

"Probably every day, as he got older. He always had one tucked into a backpack or shoved into his waistband." Illia comes around to his side of the holding chair. "This memory you saw, I think I remember what occurred, but you're right. It absolutely wasn't like that. You should read it from Newton's own hand, though. Let's see if we can find the entry, yeah?"

"We can take these to my office," Hermann offers. "Unless you'd rather-?"

"I think we'd both prefer to be right here, if I'm not mistaken," Illia replies, digging down into the box. "So, let's stay." He pauses, glances at Hermann. "You said you can sense him because of the drift. Does he know I'm here?"

"I'm afraid I don't know," Hermann says. The sense of Newt is a tingling in the back of his mind, but it's muted, and he can't sense emotions or thoughts. Perhaps given time... "But the next time we drift, I will make him aware."

"Thank you. Here, I think it's one of these..."

~

_Dear Diary,_

_Bobby Wheeler said cold fusion's impossible but he's definitely not half as smart as me. So I got all the tools Uncle Illia and Dad bought me and went to the old forest shack. Nobody ever goes there, so I can blow things up and light them on fire and it's totally cool. Uncle Illia showed it to me last year, but I don't think he expected me to do experiments in it. He keeps saying I'll blow my hands off doing something dumb. Sometimes I think all the adults forgot how to have fun. So I was reading my notes on theoretical fusion and messing with some wires, and trying to get this really awesome machine going, but then everything started sparking and the motor was spinning like crazy. I hid behind a box but the whole thing exploded and I got hit with some shrapnel, like a soldier! It was super cool!  I mean so awesome! But it was so loud, dad heard it from the house. He came running and I was kind of stuck under some boards, and covered in ash, and my cheek was bleeding, and he started yelling, like Newt what the hell did you do, and Newt you could've killed yourself. Blah blah blah. He calmed down after a minute. Then he dug me out and took me outside and we sat on the stoop of the shack. He told me he was gonna tell me something important, so I tried to listen and I'm gonna write it down as best as I can remember._

_He said that he knew it was hard having all these ideas and no way to make them work, and that sometimes I might do something really risky, but first I should think about the people who love me before I do, because they'll want to know I'm coming home when I'm finished. I guess he means himself, and he's my dad, so that makes sense. I don't know anyone else who would care though, except Uncle Illia, duh. I don't have any friends, maybe someday I'll have a wife or something. Maybe I'll find somebody as smart as me! Nah, that's not gonna happen. Maybe like two-thirds as smart. I guess if somebody two-thirds as smart as me cared about me, I'd feel bad if I got hurt for no reason. Maybe we could figure stuff out together. That could be cool._

_I had to get three stitches at the hospital. Maybe I’ll get a scar and everybody will think I’m a super scary kid you shouldn’t mess with! Then they’ll leave me alone. I know, I’m gonna tell Bobby Wheeler I got bit by a mutant zombie and if he comes near me again I’ll bite him and turn him too!_

_~_

By day, Hermann burns incense and listens to water flowing. In the evenings, he talks with Illia about Newt's youth, wanting to learn more and more about this fascinating person he thought he knew everything about but really doesn't. He learns some fascinating new tidbits. For instance, the family cat was named Ziggy Stardust, and when he died, Newt launched his ashes in a bottle rocket to try and send him to space. When asked at age 6 what he wanted to be when he grew up, Newt had chosen ‘astronaut/ice cream flavor tester.’ He’d had a mohawk between ages 14 and 16 (those photographs are _delightful_ and Illia is a dear man for letting him keep one), and a vinyl collection to rival a record store that Illia still has stored in his basement.

When they drift again, Hermann focuses on the memory of the experiment in the shack, hoping Newt will take the hint to bring them back. Thankfully, he does. This time, when Newt's father is raging, and Memory Newt is crying, Herman recites the diary entry, memorized word for word, eyes searching for some sign that Newt is listening.

When he's done, the purples and blacks fade, and everything returns to color. The two memory beings vanish, but the shack remains, and someone else is sitting there.

“Can I just say that your impression of me as an eight-year-old _suuuucks_ balls?” Newt says as Hermann approaches. He’s leaning against the bannister, legs spread haphazard over the stairs, relaxed and with an easy smile that’s so comforting to see. “Maybe it’s just your accent, or the fact that hearing you say the words ‘super cool’ makes you sound like you were body swapped with a teenage girl from 2005.”

“By your hyperbolic teasing, I ascertain you’re happy to see me, then.” Hermann says. Newt only replies with a wider smile. “Your uncle's here," Hermann says, sitting down on the step next to Newt. "He brought your journals."

"Oh my god," Newt says, burying his face in his hands. "He didn't. Oh my god, you're going to read them, aren't you?"

"Every single one," Hermann replies, unable to hide his smile. "I'll learn thirteen-year-old Newt’s deepest, most awful secrets."

Newt snorts, rolling his eyes. "Have fun reading about so, _so_ much anime and manga and my illicit attempts to find internet porn."

“Yes, well, perhaps I’ll have Illia vet some of those chapters first.”

They sit quietly for a moment. Hermann can barely hear the kaiju roar; it’s still a ways off.

"What happened after?" Newt asks. "After I let the hivemind win? I don't have memories after I... _almost_ killed you."

Hermann stares at his hands. He remembers walking across the launch deck, seeing dozens of corpses, men and women he'd known, spoken with, shared poker games with, eaten with in the mess hall. And then all those people in MegaTokyo...

"You need to come back first," Hermann says. "Then I'll tell you." He rests a hand on Newt's shoulder. _No, I don't think that will quite do._  He lifts his hand to Newt's hair and strokes his fingers through the unruly locks. Newt’s eyes widen, a question welling through that Hermann isn’t quite ready to answer, so he pulls his hand back.

"Alright," Newt says. "I'm holding you to that." The kaiju roar is getting louder. Hermann feels another pulse. "Listen, I'm hearing things. Feeling things. Real things, outside world things. Keep going, maybe after the next one...” He smiles. “Chop chop, okay? I'm going a little stir-crazy here."

"Funny, I was enjoying the peace and quiet," Hermann says. Newt grins and gives him a gentle punch in the arm. "Newton... you said before that not listening to me got us in this mess. What did you mean by that?"

Newton frowns, looks down, shakes his head. "Not yet. When I'm back, we can talk about it then. Cool?"

"Alright."

"So, I'll see you soon, Hermann," Newt says, standing up. "Oh, remember, tell Uncle Illia to redact ages sixteen through nineteen from your viewing unless absolutely vital. Believe me, I'm doing you a favor."

“Newton?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m quite certain my mental acuity is twice yours on most days. However, perhaps on the rarest of occasions, I’d only qualify as two-thirds of yours. And I’m sure we’ve figured out a thing or two together. Wouldn’t you say?”

It seems to take Newt a moment to realize what Hermann is referencing, but he gets this warm look when he does that makes Hermann shiver, just a bit. “Yeah,” Newt says. “It’s, uh, I’d say it’s been pretty cool.” They share a smile.

"See you soon, Newt," Hermann calls back as Newt steps into the shack and shuts the door.

 


	8. Bring You Home: Chapter 8

He wakes from the drift peacefully this time, quite a relief after the last few experiences of pain, yelling, and general chaos. He opens his eyes to see Illia seated in the corner, reading a book, while Hadiyya scribbles on a notepad, the sound of her pen scratching the paper.

"I'm glad you're all thoroughly distracted," Herman says, sitting up. It's quiet, eerily quiet. He glances over to see Newt, breathing low but steady. He's making pained noises that are barely audible and tossing and shifting like he's having a nightmare. When Hermann looks at the sedation unit, he can see that the switch is turned off. "Newt?" Hermann shakes his shoulder gently, but he remains unresponsive to the stimulation. "Hadiyya, he's not waking up."

Hadiyya presses a hand to Newt's forehead. "Feverish," she says, checking his pulse. "Heartbeat is racing. It's like..."

"He's fighting off an infection, obviously," Illia says, turning a page in his book. "You said that the hivemind will get weaker as he gets stronger, right? So, neither of them is strong enough to operate his conscious processing right now. Since neither can bring him out of the unconscious, he remains there. Two plus two equals comatose."

"Definitely a Geiszler, if the sass is anything to go by," Hadiyya says, shaking her head. "He's probably right though. This might seem bad, but it means what you're doing is working. You should both rest again."

"He said the next one, he might make it back," Hermann says, letting Illia help him out of the chair. His body aches like he’s just run the London marathon, yet his hip lacks the soreness that a good long-distance amble usually brings about. It’s an odd bit of dissonance. "Must we wait another week?"

"I'd rather not risk it," Hadiyya says. She reaches over to flip the sedation switch, and Newt stops twisting and whimpering, his face smoothing out to a more peaceful slackness. "Just another week, Hermann."

"Let's have you learn as much as you can in the meantime," Illia says, handing Hermann his cane. "We don't need one week turning into two because you can't fix the next distortion. I’ve been reading over some of his earlier writing, and I’ve got a few ideas of what might come up next time."

"You're probably right...” Hermann says, then remembers the idea that had come to him in the memorial garden last week. “Ah, would you give Dr. Pitafi and I a moment? I want to discuss something with her. It's nothing to worry about, I promise."

Illia gives him a look, but leaves. "What's wrong, Hermann?" Hadiyya asks when he's gone.

"I want you to start putting out feelers for a therapist," Hermann says, leaning against the holding chair, taking a moment to feel Newton's hip warm against his back. "Newt doesn't know what happened after he attacked me. He stopped creating memories. He won't know about the attacks on the Shatterdome or MegaTokyo. He's going to need trauma counseling."

Hadiyya frowns. "Hermann, I don't know if Dr. Geiszler is the type of person to agree to therapy."

"Don't worry about that, Hadiyya. I'll find a way to convince him. I'd just like to have someone waiting in the wings for when he finally acquiesces."

"Alright." Hadiyya nods, then fixes him with a contemplative look. "You know, you might want to consider a counselor yourself."

"What need would I have for a counselor? I'm fixing my issues by working on bringing Newton back. That's plenty of therapy."

"So you think now. But you're still watching him go through hell, and you'll keep watching it for months to come. Partners of people fighting serious illnesses often seek counseling."

"Hadiyya, I'm not his-"

"Partner, I know. I know!" she says, holding up her hands in acquiescence. That wry smile on her face says she thinks otherwise, and Hermann can't even make himself be angry with her. "Still, you are both unquestionably close to one another. You feel troubled by what he's going through, and how he'll feel when he realizes what his actions have caused. The burden of watching someone you love go through all that pain creates its own form of trauma, and it will affect you in ways you can’t imagine.” Her eyes get this far off look for just a moment, like a memory is kicking its way up out of the subconscious. Then she blinks, and it’s gone. “I'm just saying, it's a consideration."

"Your advice is noted, doctor," Hermann says, sighing. "Send me his vitals when you're done, please."

_She's probably right,_ he admits as he leaves the cell. Newt's mind has been torn apart, but Hermann has dealt with his own share of the trauma here. He's not opposed to therapy in a theoretical sense, obviously, with his request to Hadiyya. But sitting in a room with a stranger for an hour a week will not help him get Newt back. His greatest concern cannot be solved through talking, letting someone play around inside of his head, pulling bits and pieces of his demons out and asking, 'well how does that make you _feel_?' Perhaps after this is all over…

A sudden, sharp pain slices through his head. Hermann cries out, stumbling, gripping the wall for support as the pain fades, but the anxious feeling of terror does not. The feeling... it is not his own. No, now he can sense it, can sense the emotion flooding into him through his shared connection with Newt.

_Is, is he still aware? Even through the sedation?_  Another flash of pain, this time bringing him to the floor on his hands and knees. There's a buzzing in the back of his head, in his ears, whizzing _bzztt bzzzt_  like flies, flies burrowing into his mind-

_-feel it Hermann hear me louder get up get up-_

"Newton?" Hermann moans out, gripping his forehead. "It's- I-"

On the third stab of pain, he passes out, Newt's terror still flooding his head.

~

"Easy there, Dr. Gottlieb." There's a feminine in Hermann's ear, from someone standing across the room. "You're safe."

Hermann opens his eyes to the bright, blinding light of the overhead lamps of the medical bay. He immediately shuts them, groaning and pressing a hand over his eyes. "What happened, bloody _hell_ , my head..." Ten thousand elephant footsteps are slamming against his cerebral cortex, stampeding in a rhythmic _boom boom boom_ that’s thankfully beginning to fade.

When he peeks his eyes open again, he sees Ranger Reyes standing next to the cot he's lying on. Her hair is hanging loose from its normally impeccably tight ponytail, and she’s wearing civvies, a fitted t and jeans to be precise. It’s a Saturday, he remembers, and many of the Jaeger pilots leave on Saturdays to go into Hong Kong proper for a few hours to enjoy their time off.

Reyes points a finger to the floor. "Ranger Namani found you passed out in the security hallway. She got help."

"Ah, I'll be sure to thank her when I see her. And you...?"

"I'm the help," Reyes says. "After I brought you in, Dr. Pitafi did some tests and asked me to keep an eye on you while she analyzed the data."

"That woman works fast," Hermann mutters. "And disregards all manner of consent procedures."

"She claimed it fell under emergency care. Don't worry, she didn't remove anything too important." Reyes smiles at the look he gives her, a look Newt once called his 'You're So Full of Shit but I'm Too British To Say So' look. "What happened?"

"I'm not quite sure," Hermann says, sitting up, and oh, there's that sense again, coming from Newt, panic this time. _I'm alright, I'm alright_ , Hermann thinks, trying to figure out how one thinks a sense of soothing across a drift connection. It seems to work, as the sense he receives in return is relief. "I felt fine, and then my head suddenly exploded. Er, metaphorically that is." _Metaphors, Newt, I’m using metaphors now? I’m blaming you entirely for this._

"You've overworked yourself," Dr. Pitafi says as she strides into the room. "Now you stay put. Thank you for watching him, Jules. He gets crabby about medical care, tries to run off, according to the other Shatterdome doctors who’ve worked with him."

"I'm not a child, Hadiyya," Hermann grumbles.

"Cheers to that! Now stay there. Reyes, can you pop outside for moment? I need a minute with the patient, but then you can help him back to his bunk."

When Reyes is gone, Hadiyya sits on a stool next to him and props a tablet on her knees. "I took a bit of blood and ran a DEEG. The blood was clear, but what do you think I found on the DEEG, Hermann? Please take a guess."

Hermann sighs and shakes his head. "The hivemind. It felt like something was attacking my brain." Now the buzzing makes sense. The modified Pons has failed.

"That's the thing of it, Hermann. I don't know." She taps on the screen and a DEEG scan comes up. There are two waves, one persistent and stable, the other just a few bumps on a line. "It's very similar to Dr. Geiszler's, and occasionally when we test Jaeger pilots who have drifted with the same partner for a long time, we see this constant muted drifting. But that sort of connection... it takes _years_ , Hermann."

"Maybe..." Hermann considers something. "You know, we initially hypothesized that the hivemind signal in Newt's mind came from his drifting for the last decade. But the hivemind is so strong... perhaps it just amplifies any signal it's connected with? So, I can sense it through sensing Newt."

"So, you _can_ sense him," Hadiyya says. "After, what, less than half-a-dozen drifts? That’s quite amazing. I've never seen anything like it. Perhaps that explains how the hivemind could attack you, then. If your connection with Dr. Geiszler is growing, then your connection to the hivemind will be as well."

"But- but what we are attempting is supposed to be removing their influence! Blast it..." Hermann has a thought that sends a cold shot down his spine. "If Ranger Lambert finds out about this, he'll shut our drifting down." He looks to Hadiyya, panic writ across his features.

"Relax yourself," she says, tapping the screen and closing the scan. "No one will be seeing this data but myself and you. Doctor, patient confidentiality, for one thing. Besides, the research potential here is enormous, Hermann. If you and Dr. Geiszler are fine continuing as my guinea pigs, then this data will stay confidential."

Relief floods through him. "Thank you, genuinely," he says. "I don't believe I could stand it to stop, knowing how close we are." He'd accepted the dangers to his own mind a long time ago. Really, the first time he'd drifted with Newt and the kaiju, that should've clued him in to how far he was willing to go in both the name of science and protecting Newt.

"Get some rest," Hadiyya says. "You'll be glad to hear I believe our timeline for the next drift should be shortened. With both your and Dr. Geiszler's physical health a concern, the risks of drifting are outweighed by more pressing matters. However, I'm recommending, no, I’m ordering a therapeutic treatment plan for you during the interim."

"Therapeutic treatment... what exactly are you suggesting?"

Hadiyya smiles. "I'll let Jules explain when you get there."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So other shit has been kicking my ass this week, and therefore I'll only be posting chapters today and Friday. I'm coming up on finals, so posting schedules may be erratic for the next few weeks. Hopefully I can return to M/W/F after I'm all done, fingers crossed!
> 
> Thanks as always to dont_be_hasty for being an amazing beta! <3


	9. Bring You Home: Chapter 9

"This is preposterous," Hermann grumbles, glaring at the yoga mat Ranger Namani holds out to him. "Really, meditation? This is what I've been reduced to?" 

Namani looks uncertain, until Reyes takes the mat from her hand and shoves it under Hermann's chin. "If Hadiyya says that you need to learn some mental resilience to handle the effects of drifting with the hivemind, then that's what's going to happen. I swear to God, Dr. Gottlieb, I respect your work, but don't think I won't report you for ignoring a doctor's orders."

" _Fine_." Hermann takes the mat and strides to the back of the room. The other young pilots are already seated on their mats, wearing loose exercise shirts and leggings, goggling at him for being a part of this. _Bloody teenagers, this will be the latest gossip on the base for the next month: Dr. Gottlieb, ardent rationalist, reduced to alternative medicine!_

He sits as best he can, adjusting and trying to position his legs in a way that will not exacerbate the pain in his hip. He found an old pair of sweatpants buried somewhere in the bottom of his drawer, and a t-shirt with his alma mater plastered on the front, so at least he's rather comfortable in that respect.

Reyes settles down onto the mat at the front of the room. "Would anyone like to explain to Dr. Gottlieb why we practice this form of meditation?" The hand of the girl with short blond hair shoots up. "Victoria, go ahead."

The blond girl turns back to look at him. "When we are in the drift, our awareness is made up of two different conscious minds. If we aren't mindful of our thoughts and feelings, it can hinder our ability to complete a strong neural handshake, and cause detachment from our own personalities."

"That's good enough of an explanation, thank you," Reyes says. "Dr. Pitafi has told me that you need training in resilience against psychological threats, which is basically what the hivemind is. We learn in training here how to be mindful of our inner world and our connection to our partner, so that we encounter stressors, we have already learned ways of processing them, and they don't affect our drift bond."

"Fantastic. Let's get this over with."

Reyes instructs them to close their eyes and follow her breathing pattern count, "in, one, two, three, four, five… out, one, two, three, four, five…"

They breathe like this for a few minutes. Hermann can't understand the bloody point, he can breathe perfectly fine, he’s done it quite well for most of his life, other than that one time when Newt’s hand was around his neck. But he follows the count anyway, pushing his chest out to let deep, gulping breaths in, and then slowly pushing them back out.

Funny, he's never really noticed what his own breathing sounds like, before. There's this undercurrent ambient drone in the room as well from the overhead lights, not unpleasant, but present in the silence of the room.

That's right, the room is silent now. Reyes has stopped talking, and yet he finds himself continuing to count and breathe with the count.

"Start from the top of your head," Reyes says to break the silence, and Hermann finds the suddenness of the words cutting through the quiet causes him to key in on her voice. "Let yourself sense each body part individually. Feel the back of your neck, down to your shoulders, through your arms." She continues naming body parts, and he does seem to sense each one as she describes it. The ache in his hip becomes sharper as she names it, but then she's moving down into the thighs, the calves, the feet, and there isn't time to focus on the pain, as other body parts require attention.

She continues. "Some of you have established drift bonds with other individuals in this room, or perhaps somewhere otherwise. Return now to our breathing count, in one, two, three, four, five, out one, two, three, four, five. Breathe in, and search for that bond. Search up and down each part of your body as we've just done and find where the strongest connections lie. And in, one, two, three... 

Hermann returns his attention to the top of his head, but quickly feels what can only be described as a nudge in the back of his mind. _There_ , he thinks, breathing in, focusing in on that spot. _I'm here, Newt. Are you?_

The sense grows stronger, now it travels down the back of his neck, into his chest, and a swell of happiness... his own, or Newt's?

"Sense your partner," Reyes says. Her voice is low, soft, like that pleasant note of background ambient noise. "What can you feel from them? Are there thoughts, or feelings, or body sensations? Don't try to guide, just feel."

He breathes in.

 

_-cold metal against your back-_

 

Breathes out.

 

_-buzzing, never quieting, never a moment's peace-_

 

In.

 

_-want need fear help me want need fear help me-_

 

Out.

 

_-please stay don't leave me in the dark-_

 

_-here newt I promise almost time-_

 

_-it hurts less when you're here-_

 

_-soon-_

 

"Dr. Gottlieb?" Hermann sucks in a sharp breath and opens his eyes. Everyone is staring at him. Reyes is frowning, looking concerned.

"Yes," he says. "Right. What is it? Am I doing this incorrectly?"

"You've been like this for ten minutes."

"Oh." He hadn't even realized. "I... I was with him, I think. I don't know." He tries to stand, stumbles, and Namani and another ranger help him steady himself.

"I should have warned you, I'm sorry," Reyes says, eyeing him over, looking a bit shocked. "Coming out of meditation when you have a strong drift bond can lead to feelings of disorientation."

"Yes, that would've been fantastic to know beforehand."

"Rangers, do some warmups. I'm going to walk Dr. Gottlieb back to his room."

Reyes takes stride next to him, and her voice drops low as they leave the room. "How is your bond this strong already?'

"Kaiju hivemind amplication," Hermann says, still feeling a bit of vertigo. "At least, that's our running theory."

"Really?" she says, step faltering before catching back up to him. "That's fascinating… Building strong bonds quickly would be highly advantageous to us in the future."

"Are you suggesting we hook up your cadets to a bunch of kaiju brains to speed up the bonding process? Are you mad?"

"So says the man who was convinced to do so by his 'lab' partner," Reyes says, shooting him a pointed look.

"We were imbeciles who just managed to save the world because of it," Hermann replies with all the deadpan of an unimpressed teenager. "It was one of my life decisions I don't recommend anyone repeats."

"Be that as it may, we could study the effects on the both of you to see if there are ways to reproduce them in a less invasive way."

"I'm a little concerned by everyone's desire to make Newton and I lab rats. First Hadiyya, then Lambert, and now you. I'm just waiting for Liwen Shao to apply for intellectual property rights on Newton's brain so she can harvest it. I'm joking, Newton," he says aloud, then stops as he realizes what he's said. Reyes stops too.

"Did you just-"

"Thank you for the escort!" Hermann yelps, yanking his door open and disappearing inside before she can ask any more questions.

Once in the room, however, he sits cross-legged on the bed, and closes his eyes. _In, one, two, three, four, five, out, one, two, three, four, five..._  If it means he can communicate in some way with Newt, he'll do as much bloody meditation as he has time for.

~

The irony of his visits to the memorial garden is that they're the perfect quiet place to practice meditation. He procures a yoga mat from the commissary and takes it up to the greenhouse with him during his next trip. The stones on the patio are flat enough that the mat doesn't feel too bumpy when he sits, and he finds concentrating on the scent of the burning incense is a good focus point to center his thoughts and open a connection to Newt. The other man is still there, a warm ache fluttering in the center of his chest, every so often throbbing larger like a heatbeat, as if to say _I know you're looking for me, well, here I am!_

"Was wonderin' what'chu were up to, comin' up here all the time." Hermann almost falls over, jolted by the sudden shock of realizing someone else is there. Pentecost had been utterly silent walking up, or perhaps Hermann was just too far gone into sensing his partner that he hadn't even noticed the other man.  That's somewhat concerning, how much the outside world fades out while sensing a drift bond.

"You're surprised, then." Herman states.

Pentecost makes a non-committal noise. "Didn't take you to be the sort for Eastern healing methods."

"It's all backed up by rigorous biomedical research," Herman shoots back, annoyed that his peace has been disturbed. "Lest you assume me dismissive of sound science from other cultures, I don't discriminate against good methodology."

Pentecost snorts. "Little bit defensive there, Dr. Gottlieb. Want to brag about all your black mates next?"

"Right..." He is making a bit of an ass of himself. "Sorry, sorry," Hermann says, sighing. "I just don't enjoy my peace being disturbed. It's a defense mechanism built up over years of dealing with a particularly peace-averse lab partner."

"Mhhm." Pentecost ignores the bench and pops down in a squat next to Hermann. He reaches down and rests a hand over Mako's stone, smiling. "I was hoping they hadn't forgotten to do this. I requisitioned it from Nate after the last fight. Haven't had time to check up though."

"I've, ah, been burning incense," Hermann says, realizing how odd that sounds. "For paying respects, I mean."

"No shit, couldn't tell with the incense smell and the incense stick and the incense ash." Pentecost shoots him a smile, letting Hermann know he's being teased.

"Your observational skills are top notch, perhaps we should find you a place in the lab, away from the action, much more suited to your tastes, yes?" Hermann is quite capable of making humorous, clever conversation if he puts some effort into it, thank you _very_  much.

Pentecost grins. "Sounds great, y’know I was thinkin’ jus’ yesterday, I’m tired of all the action, I’d much rather stare at slides through a microscope for twelve hours a day while Dr. Gottlieb calls me a prat. When do I start?”

“You’ve yet to attain enough of a status to be deemed worthy of calling a prat, young man,” Hermann shoots back. _By god_ , he thinks, realizing that his grin matches Pentecost’s own. _I’m enjoying this._

Pentecost leans back on his hands. “Ah well. I tried. So, I heard Dr. Geiszler's about to wake up for good, that's the rumor goin' around, at least."

"We'll see, I suppose," Hermann says, closing his eyes again. "I'm drifting with him tomorrow. I've been reviewing journals and talking to Illia as much as I possibly can. Hopefully I'll know enough to help him fix another core memory."

"An' what's the plan after that?"

"Plan? I suppose... he'll probably need to regain some strength, we'll continue trying to fix other memories... perhaps some therapy."

"Mhmm. You told him you're in love with him yet?"

"Not ye-" Hermann's eyes jerk open. "What the bloody _hell?"_

Pentecost is cracking up, tears streaming from his eyes, and rolling about on the ground like a damned fool. He pulls his wallet out and takes a crisp twenty, placing it on Mako's stone.

"She used to talk about you both," he says, wiping his eyes. Oh... perhaps those aren't tears of laughter. "How you were both cracked in the head for each other, obvious to her. Then when I last talked to her, before... well, we made a bet about whether you still felt the same after ten years. I didn't think so, but she... she knew better, I guess." He wipes his eyes again, letting out a chuckle that’s a bit too forced.

Hermann isn't sure whether to be horrified that he'd been so obvious to everyone or touched that Mako had confidence in his level of commitment. "I… honestly am not sure what to think of my boss placing a wager on my romantic leanings."

Pentecost shakes his head. "It wasn' just you, don' worry about that. Mako loved makin' bets because she always knew that she'd win. She'd choose the right time, the right people to trust in, and she'd know to take advantage of someone underestimatin' her. She didn't become Secretary-General outta sheer luck. She could play the game, 'n play it well."

Pentecost has this fond look in his eye and talks about his step-sister in a way that makes Hermann jealous. His relationships with his siblings can be described as frayed, distant, unnecessary. Especially after his mother's death, keeping in contact with them became a secondary priority, as he's never found them particularly enlightened or interesting individuals. Whenever he used to talk about work during family events, they'd dismiss his scientific discoveries as underwhelming or part of an age long past, and _aren't you getting tired of working in a dead avenue of science, Hermann? Jaeger technology will be obsolete soon_. Bloody English professors, the lot of them, all self-satisfied in the knowledge that father knew all, and Hermann was just a kook. Well, he certainly showed them after the Triple Event...

"You're lookin' a bit chuffed," Pentecost says, nudging his shoulder.

"Yes, well, sibling affection is not in my wheelhouse, per say."

Pentecost shrugs. "I'd have still loved her even if m' dad hadn't raised her. She was a brilliant woman, no two ways about it, an' I can tell you feel the same, or you wouldn't be up here, payin' respects."

"I would not disagree with you on that point in any capacity, Ranger Pentecost."

They sit there quietly for a while, waiting for the incense stick to extinguish. When it finally does, Pentecost stands up and holds out a hand. "Do me a favor," he says as he helps Hermann to his feet. "Call me Jake, alright? 'Ranger Pentecost' reminds me too much of m’ dad, and I hate the formality."

Hermann grips his hand and lets himself be hoisted up. "Alright. Then I suppose you may call me Hermann."

Jake smiles and nods. "Ace. See ya' round, Hermann, m’ friend." He strides back down the path.

 _Friend. Yes, that's agreeable,_  Hermann thinks. _I suppose more of those can't hurt._


	10. Bring You Home: Chapter 10

_It's time_ , Hermann thinks when he wakes up. _Today is the day_. The words repeat over and over in his head as he showers, shaves, dresses (a well-ironed button down, sharp blazer and shined shoes), shoves something down his throat in the mess hall, and then hightails it down to the security cells as fast as he's able, whacking ankles and kneecaps with his cane when they get in the way.

"Out of the damn way!" he shouts, overeager, ready for this moment for bloody well _ages_  by now.

"You've eaten?" Hadiyya asks when he arrives in Newt's cell. "Drunk enough water? Have you been practicing your meditation?"

"Yes, yes, yes, I'm completely prepared," Hermann grouses, looking to Newt. He's paler than when Hermann last saw him, breathing very quietly, a blanket covering his bottom half. Comatose for five days, yet somehow, he's been active as a presence in Hermann's mind for the entire time, little muted emotions breaking into Hermann’s consciousness. A drift bond is a fascinating thing.

Illia is in the room, and holds the Pons as Hermann seats himself. "I'm putting my trust in you," he says as he helps Hermann put the headpiece on. "It's killing me that I can't do what you do for him." Illia meets his eyes. "Don't let me down, Dr. Gottlieb."

"Sedation switching off," Hadiyya says, flicking up the switch. Newt starts shifting and making strained sounds after about a minute. _He's so close_ , Hermann thinks, taking Newt's hand one more time. _You're almost out, Newton. I'm coming to get you._

Hadiyya counts down from five. Hermann closes his eyes, breathes out, _three, two, one..._

 

_blastoff_

 

 

_...Newt?_

 

 

_I'm here._

 

 

_Show me._

 

Hermann opens his eyes, and it's to flashing lights in a dimly lit living room, surrounded by a throng of teenagers. They're dancing to music, something with pounding drum beats and screeching guitars that Hermann only recognizes from times when Newt had blasted it full-volume in the lab, miming air guitar and shouting something about  _this was my jam, man, you gotta learn to appreciate some good punk rock!_ The clothes they wear are old-fashioned, probably the mid to late 2000s, and Hermann can tell by the flip-top mobile phone with a hanging keychain that one youth is babbling into that he's gone back at least twenty years. Red plastic cups litter the tables, the mantle on the fireplace, and he can detect the faint scent of vomit.

The teenagers are shouting, talking, laughing, and generally being young. Hermann can't begrudge them for it, he was young once (though never like this), but could someone turn the damned music down a bit?

_Concentrate_ , Hermann thinks, shaking away the urge to curmudgeon. _Where are you... ah._

Newton is sitting at the bottom of the stairwell that leads up to an open-view second floor hallway. He's dressed in ratty old jeans, a t-shirt, and one of his godforsaken leather jackets, brunette hair spiked out at all angles. Looking sullen and awkward, he molds himself against the bottom step, trying to look cool and disaffected like any teenager who gets invited to a party they don't want to be at. Hermann remembers being much the same way, although he never even bothered going to the parties. Perhaps Newt does want to be sociable if he showed up, though no one seems to want to return the favor. Some of the youths glance his way, mumbling to each other in hurried whispers, and Hermann can see that Newt knows they're speaking about him, flushing a shade of pink with embarrassment even as he tries to look uncaring. He looks a bit young for this crowd, and Hermann remembers him mentioning once that he’d graduated high school at sixteen. Intellectually superior, but emotionally immature, a trend that would continue indefinitely.

Apparently, it's all a bit much, however, and Newt hops to his feet, glancing around for an escape route. Hermann follows him through the throngs of people, who seem to just part as he passes. Newt keeps his eyes down, so he doesn't see the tall, drunk idiot in an American football jersey stumbling back, crashing into Newt and sending him sprawling into the crowd. There are shrieks, and the crowd parts to reveal that Newt has crashed into another teenager, some tall, polo-shirted blond youth, and Hermann really shouldn’t stereotype, but he can imagine this teenager’s picture in the dictionary, probably next to the words "rich," "privilege," and "jock."

Newt is half sprawled on the youth, but springs to his feet, babbling apologies. Apparently, polo-shirt isn't accepting them.

"Fuckin' homo, get off of me!" He's screaming, shaking a plastic cup, clearly half-in-the-bag already. A pity the imbecile can’t hold his alcohol.

Newton looks genuinely afraid, still babbling. "-accident, 'm sorry Chad, I didn't-"

"-knew you were some queer perv, everybody does, _Nerd_ -ton," polo-shirt says. _God, is that the level of insult this cretin employs? It's not even a bit clever_ , Hermann thinks. Then polo-shirt-now-Chad shoots an arm out and grabs Newt by the shirt. "No teachers here to save your punk ass. Finally gonna fucking shut you up."

Newt struggles back, but Chad's acquaintances apparently have other ideas, grabbing his arms and holding him. Other young people are shouting about a fight and pulling out their phones. Chad's acquaintances shove Newt towards him, and before he can defend himself, Chad has sucker-punched him in the face. Newt goes down, and Chad goes with him, throwing more punches.

"Hey!" somebody shouts. Everyone stills and looks over to see a tall, lanky boy with medium-brown skin and broad shoulders. Newt looks out from beneath Chad, eye bloodied and already swelling, giving this teenager a pleading look, which is summarily ignored.

"Take it outside!" the youth shouts, and there are multiple cheers as Chad and his friends drag Newton out of the house.

Hermann can't watch this. Even before feeling the pulse, seeing the purple and black, he knows something is wrong. He didn't read about this, and of course, he wasn't there, but when he sees Newt's eye, a memory of Hermann's own pops into his head.

_"Would you give me the bloody level you stole back already, Dr. Geiszler?"_

_"Come get it yourself, Dr. Gottlieb," Newt says, ignoring Hermann to prop his feet up on his desk and fiddle with a notepad. "I'm busy."_

_"Fine." Hermann's had just about enough of Newt stealing his equipment, he's tempted to chain his property to his desk, but Newt would likely just melt them with kaiju blood and leave him to clean up the mess. Instead, he keeps putting up with the other man's nonsense, for now, until the inevitable day when he snaps and bludgeons Newt to death in a crime of passion. Well, perhaps that’s a bit hyperbolic, but Hermann’s mean resting blood pressure has increased five points on both the high and low scale since he began working with Newt, and that cannot be healthy. Or conducive to a positive working relationship._

_He huffs and hustles over to Newton's side of the lab, avoiding errant kaiju parts, and snatching the level off of Newton's desk. Newt glances over at him and rolls his eyes before returning them to whatever he's drawing. Likely either another blueprint for this ‘Milking Machine’ he keeps babbling about, or the latest bit of body art he’s designing._

_Hermann is about to leave when something draws his attention. It's an old photograph, stuck against part of Newton's desk with a magnet. In the photograph, Newton is much younger, dressed in a navy-blue robe and cap, holding the camera up above himself as both he and a much older man who looks suspiciously like him grin into the lens. Newton's one eye is puffy, swollen over and bruised, but he still seems to be in a jolly good mood._

_"How did you end up with a black eye at your graduation?" Hermann asks, curiosity getting the better of him. He points to the photo when Newt gives him a questioning look. "I, ah, just noticed it."_

_"Oh, yeah, that's actually a pretty good story. This douche named Chad laid into me the night before at this house party. Got a few good hits in before this other dude, Samar, pulled him off of me. I got lucky that night," Newt says. The way he intones the word ‘lucky’ is suggestive, and it seems there's something else he wants to say, but then he shrugs. "Yeah, so that's the whole story. My dad was pissed but Uncle Illia thought it was fucking hilarious, as you might be able to tell."_

_"I'd not taken you for one who enjoys engaging in violence," Hermann says with an air of grave seriousness, perhaps a bit of a scold._

_Newt scowls. "I wasn't trying to egg the guy on, Hermann. I was a dumbass like all sixteen-year-olds, but not dumb enough to want to fight a drunk lacrosse jock. Now can you take your judgy attitude back over to your side of the lab?"_

The memory fades, but Newt's memory has frozen, and now it's rewinding back like an old videocassette: Newt’s eye blossoming open as the swelling recedes, the cast of characters hopping apart and walking backwards, away from one another. Hermann watches it rewind, and then begin to play again. Drunk kid still crashes into Newt. Chad still punches him. However, this time the broad-shouldered boy hustles into the crowd and yanks Newt and Chad apart.

"You're not starting a fight in my house, Chad," Samar says. "Walk it off." Chad glares, but he and his two flunkies slink off to another part of the house. Newt is still bent over, clutching his eye and wincing.

"Fuck, dad's gonna kill me, fuck!" Newt says. He jumps when Samar rests a hand on his shoulder. "Uh, I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to mess up your party."

Samar smiles. "Relax, Newt. Come on, let's get you some ice. And I think there's some cooling balm in my parent's bathroom."

Hermann watches as Samar leads Newt into the kitchen. They emerge after a moment with a plastic bag stuffed with ice. Samar still has his hand on Newt's shoulder as they walk up the stairs together. Hermann follows them up, slipping into the bedroom before the door shuts.

"Sit on the bed," Samar says, stepping away and walking into the bathroom. Newt does so, grumbling under his breath, hissing and wincing as he tries to keep the ice pack pressed directly to his eye. When Samar comes back, he has a small bottle and a washcloth. "Come on, man, wrap the bag in the towel. You're top of our class, I know you're smarter than that."

"Thanks," Newt mumbles, taking the washcloth and wrapping it around the ice. "Uh, you don't have to take care of me or anything, I'm like, totally cool if you want to go back to the party."

"It's fine." Samar sits down next to him, uncapping the tube. "I'd feel bad if I did. I didn't invite you to get beat up by Chadwick fucking Templeton. Here, move the ice a sec."

"He's got a really douchy name, doesn't he-ahh!" Newt flinches as Samar presses a bit of balm against the injured skin. "Yep, that stings like a bitch, fuck!"

Samar laughs. "He's the worst. But his dad and mine run a medical practice together, so I kind of have to invite him to everything." He's gentle as he applies the cream over Newt's eye, and for his part, Newt does his best to stay still. Or rather, he seems to be enjoying the attention.

"Thanks for inviting me," Newt says when Samar is done. "I don't get invited to stuff like this, like, ever."

"Honestly, I'm kind of surprised you came," Samar says, resting back on his hands. "I was hoping you would, though."

Newt frowns, obviously confused. "You...were?"

"Yeah. I mean, I think you're an okay dude, you know? You babble a lot and you're twitchy, but you've always got something interesting to say. Plus, you’re top of our class and took so many AP courses that you’re halfway to a degree before you even step into MIT. I feel like... you're definitely gonna do great stuff after we graduate."

"Really?" Newt's cheeks are flushed crimson, certainly not from the earlier exertion of the fight. He looks like he doesn't know what to do with a compliment. "I mean, that's really nice of you to say, and I like you too Samar- I mean, I think you're a really cool dude too, uh, not that I'd mean anything else by that, 'cause I definitely don't mean anything else. Uh."

Samar just laughs, shaking his head. "It's cool, Newt. Here, move the ice again for a second? I want to make sure you're not bleeding."

Newt lowers the pack. Samar reaches out a hand, flicks a water droplet off of Newt's cheek, and Newt freezes, eyes going wide like full moons. The other boy meets his eyes, frowns, then reaches back up and rests a thumb against the same spot. Newt doesn't pull away, keeps his eyes locked to Samar's. Samar traces his thumb down Newt's cheek, Newt's eyes growing wider and wider, as Samar's thumb traces a path down, across... and ends pressed against Newt's lower lip.

Newt's tongue dips out just a tad to press against the pad of Samar's thumb.

Then they're both down on the bed, Samar looming over Newt, kissing him gently, careful of the injured eye. Newt squirms, makes delighted and confused noises...

And then Hermann realizes where this scene is about to go. He yanks the door behind him open and flees the room.

The rest of the house is empty, silent of music or voices. There's a lone figure sitting on the bottom step, leaning against the bannister, wearing a leather jacket and smiling up at Hermann.

"I told you I got lucky," Newt says, patting the step next to him.

"You didn't elaborate as to exactly what _sort_ of lucky, a word that has a near infinite variety of meanings and intonations," Hermann says, coming down the steps and sitting next to him. "I, ah, presume that wasn't something you were quite used to?"

"Dude, Samar was literally my _first_ ," Newt says, pressing a bit closer, just so that his shoulder brushes Hermann's own. "We spent the rest of the summer together until he went across the country to Berkley. I send him an email every so often. I think he and his husband are both surgeons, or something like that."

"I see..." Hermann is quiet, resting his hands on his knees and thinking. He knows Newt is watching him, waiting for a response, a reaction. "Why show me how this memory plays out? You didn't for the last one."

"Yeah, well, you kinda already knew I like blowing things up. You didn't need to see a repeat of that. I mean, if you want, we can go find some memory where I'm exploding some shit, I'm not necessarily opposed to seeing some bomb-ass-"

"No, that's quite alright. So, you wanted to show me something you perceived I didn't already know about you?"

"I guess, yeah- you already knew, didn’t you. Damn, I’m so transparent. Well, still if you're gonna spend more time fiddling around in my head, it’s pertinent that you understand all these important, Newton-defining experiences. For the future and, uh, scientific rigor."

"Scientific rigor," Hermann repeats. "Right. Yes."

Newt bumps his shoulder, smirking, and Hermann can't help but smile back. It's hard to avoid how fast his heart is beating, even if it's all in his head, all of this in his head. Newt's eyes are warm, and it's _real_  Newt, looking at Hermann like a bloody action hero.

The house around them begins to dissolve. "Newton, are you coming back to us?" Hermann asks.

"I don't know, dude. I really hope so." Newt smiles again, nervous this time, uncertain. "I'm tired of being lost in here. The hivemind has gotten quieter, but it's still there. Its words hurt, Hermann. Kind of like brainfreeze, except much longer and I just stop thinking, and you know how much I hate _not thinking_ , it’s kind of what I do."

Hermann thinks for a moment, then reaches out and takes Newt's hand. "Do you feel that?" he asks.

"Yeah, course I do."

["No, Newt. I need you to really feel it. Search for it, it's not in your head. It's real."](http://doodledroid.tumblr.com/post/176920499810/the-house-around-them-begins-to-dissolve-newton)

"Hermann?" But Hermann is dissolving away as well, all but for the warm, firm grip of his hand, and then that touch is dragging Newt up, up, out of the darkness...

And Newt sees light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to dont_be_hasty for the fantastic beta work :) Guys I can't believe I've only posted like 25K words because there's still at least 50K words to go, maybe even 75k depending on how my writing goes. this is gonna be a looooooong ass fic. Thank you again for all your lovely responses!
> 
> Thanks to [doodledroid](http://doodledroid.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for the illustration of this scene linked above!
> 
> Content Warnings: homophobic language and attitudes


	11. Bring You Home: Chapter 11

Newt feels metal under his back, around his wrists, so so cold, but he _feels_  it. Feels the weight of something draped over his legs, feels the way his own lips are chapped dry, feels a warm, smooth palm clutching his.

He opens his eyes to a blinding bright light, and has to close them again, wincing. A sharp pain in his head, the buzzing still there, whispering into his cerebellum, _kill kill all kill all destroy annihilate-_

The hand clutching his lets go, and Newt makes a displeased noise, because it felt really nice, and he wants to hold onto the nice feeling, there have been so few of those lately. Then a hand, maybe the same one, rests on his forehead, and he hears a voice cut through the buzzing.

"Newton?"

 _Hermann_ , his brain supplies, then screams _HERMANN HERMANN HIS VOICE REAL VOICE WAKE UP YOU IDIOT!_

Newt forces his eyes open, wincing but keeping them open, until they finally adjust to the light and clearer pictures form. Human shapes that sharpen into an unfocused blur. "Glasses," Newt mumbles. "Where are..."

"Sorry, completely forgot!" It's an unfamiliar woman's voice, British too, but different than Hermann's _meddling human ruined our plans kill him kill him annihilate destroy you belong to us_ -

 _Shut up!_  Newt yells into his own head. Then two blurry shadows are reaching up towards his face, and he stays still as the shadows put his glasses on his face, morphing into hands. Everything is suddenly sharp, and the first thing Newt focuses on is Hermann's face.

Hermann, beaming at him like... like Newt hadn't tried to choke the life out of him, hadn't let the Precursors into his head. Like he'd been the friend that Hermann needed. There's no anger on Hermann's face, just joy, and relief... wow, is that really all just for him? It's... it's a lot.

"Hi," Newt says, smiling, not moving, too tired to move a single limb. Everything aches, body and mind, but that ache is real, it's his own, not some bullshit the hivemind has implanted. Newt hurts, and that's exciting, because it's a hurt that will end, not the infinite pain and despair he felt when he'd thought he'd ended Hermann. "You don't know how good it is to finally see you again, buddy."

Newt apparently doesn't need to move, because Hermann will do it for him, leaning in to wrap his arms around Newt, pressing his face against Newt's shoulder in a way that makes Newt's stomach roll and tumble. _No time for that, cut it out_ , Newt thinks. His body has betrayed him enough in the last... however long he's been gone. He doesn't need his first few intelligent thoughts to be superseded by his boner. _The fact that you're acknowledging that could happen means you're still_ _so far gone for him._

"Newton," Hermann mumbles against his shoulder, a deep rumble that makes Newt shiver. "Newton Sagan Geiszler."

"That's my name, Herm. On my birth certificate and everything."

Hermann pulls back, still grinning. "It worked. It bloody well _worked_ , Newt! The modified Pons, your neural defenses against the hivemind... it was all theoretically sound. Even under the hivemind control, you produced something to fight back. You astound me, Newton Geiszler."

"Jesus, Hermann, I don't think you've ever given me this many compliments in our entire relationship." Newt can't help but smile back, the joy is infectious. "It's kinda nice. Let's talk more about how astounding I am."

"Fishing for accolades? Yes, you're definitely the real Newton."

"Man, you were on a roll though! Can you just say, 'Newt, you have the superior brain,' just once? Pretty please? I think that could, like, almost be a kink for me."

"Yes, well," Hermann says, going pink, and _that_ , that right there is _so_  not fair, fuuuuck Hermann is going to kill him from looking so adorkable. "My offer stands."

"Boys, are you both done flirting?" says the female voice Newt heard, and it's only now he notices the woman in the bright pink hijab sitting next to some sort of monitoring machine. "We've got things to do, and I believe Dr. Geiszler needs rest."

"You're right, Hadiyya- Newt, this is Dr. Hadiyya Pitafi. She's been assisting me in fixing your memories."

"It's a pleasure," Hadiyya says. "Your uncle had to step out for a moment, but I expect he'll be back shortly."

"Uncle Illia is still here?" Newt asks. He's shocked, but he's not even sure why? Maybe he just expected his uncle to drop the journals and go, since Newt has been so distant. Maybe, if he's here… then Newt's still worthy of forgiveness.

"He's been teaching me," Hermann says, resting a hand on Newt's arm. If Hermann is really into touching him fondly now, Newt isn't going to argue against it. "He's explained a lot of your history, growing up, moments that he believed were important to you. It's been... enlightening, to say the least."

"I'm not gonna lie," Newt says, "it's a _leeetle_  bit creepy that you know all this random shit about me now. Like, you're gonna bring something up in conversation and I'm probably gonna die of embarrassment?"

Newt knows that Illia doesn't know the most important thing, the one thing that lead to all of this happening. So at least that's a comfort.

Newt continues. "He gave you too much ammo. This is so not fair, I demand your old journals!"

Hermann shrugs. "I didn't keep any. Too many siblings who could've abused what I would've wanted to write. But in fairness, I will answer any questions you have from now on. Alright?"

"Yeah, okay," Newt says, trying to lift his hand for the first time to shake Hermann's, and grunting as he finds it restrained. "Right, shit. Can, uh, can I get these unlocked?"

"Hold on, I'll find Ranger Lambert," Hadiyya says, getting up. "He has the keys."

"Newton," Hermann says when she leaves. "While she's away, can you tell me, can you still feel it? The hivemind?"

The buzzing goes angry again in his head, as if it knows Hermann has acknowledged it. _kill him dead make him pay ruined our plans blot him out of existence-_

"Yeah," Newt says, taking a sharp breath. "Fuck, yeah. Wish I could tell you otherwise, but they're still there. And they really, really don't like you."

_kill burn rip tear flesh fragile human-_

"Leave him alone!" Newt hisses, then realizes he just yelled at something in his head. He glances at Hermann, who looks concerned.

"I don't suppose we should consider the possibility-" Hermann begins. But then Lambert strides into the room, and he goes quiet. Illia and Hadiyya are behind Lambert.

"Uncle!" Newt yelps, trying to work up the energy to sit up. "Hey, so, I told Hermann to tell you to redact ages-"

"Sixteen through nineteen, yeah, I know," Illia says. "I definitely didn't listen though."

"Oh, fuck," Newt says, groaning. "I'm so sorry, Hermann, nobody should have to be put through that."

"Seems like you're feeling more like yourself, Dr. Geiszler," Lambert says. “Welcome back to reality.”

“Thanks, good to be back. So, with all these heartfelt reunions out of the way, you mind taking these off?” Newt asks, tugging intentionally at the wrist cuffs.

Lambert hesitates, then glances behind Newt, towards where Dr. Pitafi stands, and Newt is confused for a moment, but… _Right. I’m a security hazard. Fuck._

Pitafi must have some confidence in him, however, because Lambert comes over and begins fiddling with the locks around his wrists. "Give me one second."

Illia moves closer, resting a hand on Newt’s shoulder. “We’ve got some catching up to do, kid. You know I finally moved?”

“Out of that old shithole?” Newt asks. “Finally, I thought you were gonna-”

Newt hears the click as the locks are opened.

More to the point, the _hivemind hears it._

And suddenly there is nothing but the hivemind screaming, the buzzing tearing into his mind again, _KILL KILL THEM COME BACK TO US END THEM NEWTON GEISZLER YOU ARE OUR EMISSARY-_

He screams and the world fades as the blackness tries to swallow him again, no no _no_ _no no_

_not again_

_please not again not-_

"-hurt him, it's the hivemind!" His hands are being torn away from something, someone is coughing and gasping, and suddenly Hermann is in his face, gripping his hair, as strong arms hold him in place. "Newton, look at me, I've got you. You're not going back there, alright?"

"What- what did I...?" Because he must've done something, because Lambert has him pulled back against the chair again, and Hermann looks terrified, and Hadiyya and Uncle Illia are in the corner, and Illia is hacking, a hand pressed to his throat...

" _No_ ," Newt says.

His voice is so small and weak that it's shocking.

"I, _fuck_ , I'm sorry... it wasn't me. It wasn't..."

Hermann and Lambert are shouting at one another, but it's like a high-pitched whine, unintelligible.

The buzzing returns, and Newt shuts his eyes, can't shut them out, because he hurt his uncle, could've...

_hates you now won't forgive you see the look in his eyes didn't you?_

Yes, the memory of the moment before this, Illia looked at him with hate, and he can see it in his mind, so it must be real... right?

The darkness blotches at the edges of his sight, which should be impossible with his eyes shut, but it's darker than dark, a black hole filled with nothing but hate and rage.

Newt is falling, falling into it again, just like before. Just like when he'd thought he'd killed Hermann, and there was no more beauty in the universe, no more meaning, because it had all died in the grip of his fist around the throat of the man he loved so deeply that being apart from him tore him apart.

It's coming back, it's going to take him back down into that deep, endless place of pain and hopelessness.

Newt can hear screaming, dull and muted, even as he opens his eyes everything blurs, and they're going to win...

And then everything bursts back into sharpness, color and light, full stereo surround sound.

Because Hermann is kissing him.

Hermann fucking Gottlieb, love of his goddamn life, is _kissing Newt_ , literally kissing him back into existence.

The buzzing of the hivemind drops from an overpowering roar, back down to a whisper. Hermann's hands are warm against his cheeks, and Newt wants to embrace him, but he still can't move his arms, and so he lets himself be kissed, because holy shit, it is so fucking _good_. They're not even using tongue, just mouths meeting, Hermann’s hands gripping him steady and sure, and it's better than the best sex he's ever had, better than every damn degree he's earned, better than drifting with a kaiju. Because it's Hermann.

Hermann. Kissing. Newt.

Newt makes an embarrassingly feminine noise when Hermann pulls back. Everyone is staring at them in a mixture of shock, wonder, horror, awe, confusion, and probably like five other emotions he doesn't care to examine right now.

Hermann is red-faced, breathing hard, shaking with determination, and if that isn't the fucking _hottest_  thing Newt has ever seen, he's a goddamn liar. 

"S-sorry," Herman pants, expression as awestruck as anyone else’s at his own audacity. "I- I couldn't think of anything else! I was worried I was about to lose you again, and I figured a shock would jolt you out of it... Are you back with us?"

Newt nods, still stunned. "Shock is, shock is a term that could be used..." he says, swallowing.

"Newton." His uncle is stepping towards him, and it's not hate in his expression, it's relief. "It's alright. I know you didn't mean it. We're going to help you, okay?"

"Dr. Gottlieb, Mr. Geiszler, I need you both to leave," Dr. Pitafi says.

"What? Why the bloody hell would we?" Hermann snaps back.

"If the hivemind is still fighting for control, it's going to target people Dr. Geiszler cares about to attempt to destroy his connection to reality. That means the both of you.

“Ranger Lambert and I will make sure he's safe and secured so this won't happen again," she says, voice lowering, like she's soothing a terrified child. "You can see him in a few hours, doctor's orders. On both sides," she says, looking past Newt, at what must be a pissy expression from Lambert.

"It's okay." Newt knows she's right. Until he's sure the hivemind can't exert any more control over his body... he needs to continue being contained. "Guys, it's cool. I need a good nap, shower, maybe eat something. Come check on me later." He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

Hermann meets his gaze for a moment, and Newt pleads through a look, just listen, please, for once?

It seems to work, as Hermann sighs and nods.  "We all could use some rest, I suppose. But I'll come see you later, I promise."

"Holding ya to that, Herm. You too, uncle."

"Of course, I will," Illia says. "I flew halfway across the goddamn planet to see you, didn't I?"

"Shoo, now," Dr. Pitafi says. "I'll let you know as soon as you both can see him."

Newt closes his eyes as they leave, slumping back against the seat. Their presence removed from the room, the buzz is almost nonexistent, and he feels no urge to attack anymore.

"So, can the plan not be keeping me strapped to this chair anymore?" Newt asks. "Because it's getting old, and muscle atrophy is just, like the _worst_."

"I might have an idea," Lambert says. "It's not going to be your favorite, but it will work for now."

"Lay it on me, ace," Newt says. "It can't shock me any more than what just happened."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: dubiously consensual kiss (I wanted to play around with this trope a bit. We know from Newt's POV that he found this enjoyable, but it's fiction and IRL the implications would be more concerning. There will be a short conversation about it next chapter)
> 
> Thank you to everyone in the comments and on tumblr for your wonderful, life-giving comments about this fic. Also a huge SHOUT OUT to my beta dont_be_hasty, once again, for constantly making awesome suggestions that improve this fic. You're the best <3


	12. Bring You Home: Chapter 12

Newt, in only a short few hours, comes to think of his life as divided. There's the pre-Precursor control, and the post-Precursor control. Technically they're still here, biding their time, but he's no longer trapped under the surface, beating against the solid ice, lungs filling with the cold of the void, falling down, down into the darkness… metaphorically speaking. It damn sure felt that way the last couple of years.

So, he has his First Shower Since Hermann Saved Him, and his First Meal Since Hermann Saved Him, and even his First Actual Full REM Sleep Cycle Since Hermann Saved Him. It's only about ninety minutes, but after the weeks of restless, sedated sleep, it’s practically a shot of adrenaline to his system.

Lambert's plan is simple, and frustratingly realistic. They put him in a cell: one with bars, a cot, a toilet and a sink. It's down an empty hallway, so he doesn't have to hear the hollering of the genuinely incarcerated prisoners.

Except, well, he's still in a cell, with a door he can't open, so is there really a difference between genuinely incarcerated and not?

His body is fully mobile, although the weeks of little movement have caused some bedsores, thankfully small and likely to heal quick. He's unable to walk more than a few feet before he becomes exhausted. They had to wheel him down to the cell.

He's been provided comfortable clothing: t-shirt, sweatpants, sneakers. Nobody has asked him to wear a prison jumpsuit, which is a hopeful sign. He has no idea what havoc the Precursors caused once they completely subsumed him. He doesn't know how much the others blame him for what happened. He hasn't asked Lambert or Dr. Pitafi, not even when she was taking vitals and testing him for an hour and he had nothing to do. Hermann had said he'd explain everything.

So for Hermann, he waits.

He's napping when the familiar _tap tap tap_  of Hermann's cane echoes down the hallway. Newt has heard that solid, sharp noise on every possible surface: wood, linoleum, metal, carpet, concrete, mud, and Hermann's gait hasn't changed in ten years, it's instantly recognizable, as is the happy little jolt in Newt’s chest every time he hears it.

Newt pushes himself to sit up, not standing, as he won't be able to stay upright very long. Still, when Hermann rounds the corner and meets his eyes, Newt's mouth bursts into a grin, even as the angry buzzing starts back up.

"You look better already," Hermann says, walking up to the bars and resting his head between two of them. "I assumed you'd be asleep, I just wanted to make sure you were alright in here."

"As good as I can be caged up," Newt says, shrugging. "At least it's not the chair anymore."

He rubs a wrist, the irritated skin itching, peeling. He'll have to request some medicated lotion from Dr. Pitafi, hopefully she’s got the authority to write scrips. She'd been kind enough checking him over, cracking friendly jokes but gentle in her examinations. She also babbled a bit wildly about how fascinating the drift bond he shares with Hermann is, and all of the scientific research possibilities that could provide. Newt sees why Hermann would be friends with her.

"How is the head?" Hermann asks, resting a hand on the perpendicular middle bar. Newt's gaze snaps to it, and he wants to reach out, wants that physical contact, but he's afraid of what would happen, whether the buzzing would overwhelm him again.

"Still there,” Newt says, “but manageable right now. I wish I could say I can just ignore them, but, uh, we saw how that worked out in the lab."

"Yes, about that. I… well, I wanted to apologize," Hermann says, drumming his fingers on the bar, suddenly looking a bit embarrassed... guilty too, maybe? "About before. I've been thinking about it, and I grossly overstepped my boundaries when I, ah..."

"When you kissed me," Newt states flatly.

Hermann turns pink again. "Yes. That. I let my panic overwhelm my logic, and you've already had enough consent violations because of the Precursors. I should've considered the consequences more thoroughly before I took action."

"Hermann…”

Newt has things he wants to say, like _I was surprised, not opposed,_ and _I’ve dreamed about you doing that_ , and _it’s what kept me going for the last ten years_ and _please, won’t you do it again?_

“It’s fine. Don't worry about it,” is what comes out instead.

Hermann apparently doesn’t agree. “I mean it, Newton, you’ve been through enough without the burden of my thoughtless actions-”

“Dude, just stop. It- it really wasn't, like, a crazy big deal to me."

 _What a lie, what a lie, what a mighty fine lie._ It was the biggest, most amazing, most life-fulfilling deal. It was the culmination of two decades of a whirlwind called their relationship. Hermann literally _kissed him back to reality._ And now…?

Newt's stomach curls, twisting away from that joy to nauseous hollowness. He'd been hoping that they would talk about it, acknowledge what had happened, what it meant. But apparently, it was a mistake. A ‘thoughtless’ action. Hermann being his usual, panicky, too protective self. And now he’s walking things back…

And as much as he hates it, Newt will have to accept it.

 _Should've known. He rejected me once, why would I think he'd changed his mind?_  

"It- oh? Well, alright." Hermann looks... disappointed, but that's just Newt's mind fucking with him. It's been doing that a lot lately.

There's quiet for a moment, each man lost in his thoughts. Newt rubs his fingers together, staring at the whorls and patterns on his fingertips. In the last few hours, examining his own form has become something of a habit, just staring down at his hands, legs, feet, knowing that they're real and not part of the illusion of the void. There are bruises and cuts and aches and sores, none of which existed in his unexistence state.

He can smell things: the freshly washed, scratchy sheets of the cot, a slight undertone odor of urine wafting from the toilet in the cell, and the muted musk of Hermann's sweat, mingling with the antiperspirant brand he's obviously not stopped wearing since he worked with Newt. Smell had disappeared entirely for him in the dreamscape, not at first, not in the beginning, but inevitably, remembering how things smell faded away, and the world around became so unnaturally scentless that it had worked a primal anxiety into his head. Scent was the first clue he'd had when he'd woken up that he was waking up to reality.

"You said you'd tell me what happened after we met in the Shao building," Newt says, glancing back at Hermann, who looks distracted by his own thoughts. "Tell me."

"Newton..."

Now Hermann seems uncertain, and there's the protective nature again, the one that Newt has found frustrating at times, when he'd just wanted to work and invent and discover, and Hermann would screech to the higher-ups or in Newt's face about safety, protocols, Newt's 'predilection for unnecessary risk taking.' Yeah, sometimes he'd been right, and he'd stopped Newt from blowing his head off or dissolving his body in an accidental acidic blood exposure.

But knowledge is such a precious thing to Newt, no matter good or bad, because, to quote the esteemed luminary Francis Bacon, 'knowledge is power.'

Power over the kaiju, power over his detractors, power over his own choices.

"I can handle it, Hermann,” Newt says. “I know it's not gonna be good, okay? Look, you can just 'I-told-you-so' me like old time's sake if that makes it easier." He clears his throat, tries out his best fake Hermann accent. " _I told you that drifting with a kaiju was dangerous, Newton, but you went and did it anyway, bloody idiot!_ There, how's that?"

"Your impression has gotten even worse in the last decade," Hermann says, smiling in a way that makes Newt's heart ache. "How is it possible that you're brilliant at so many things and can't even get my bloody accent correct?"

"Language was always your thing, not mine, _mein Freund_ ," Newt shoots back. "I could barely understand your effete, pretentious English sometimes, and then you'd start speaking German when you didn't want me to understand you!"

Hermann scowls. "You could've bothered to learn some! You certainly picked up Mandarin quite easily. I suppose if you really want something, you'll put out the effort."

Newt winces. "Harsh, dude."

"Ah...” Hermann sighs. “Apologies. That was uncalled for."

"It's not even like I was the one learning Mandarin,” Newt continues. “The Precursors became fluent, not me. Liwen is gonna be super pissed when she finds out... Like, I’m still super awful with it, even worse than the fake shitty Mandarin the Precursors saddled me with."

Hermann shrugs. "As long as you can do good work, which I know you're capable of, then I'm sure she'll continue to employ you. She's rather insisted upon it, when I spoke to her."

"That's the thing," Newt says. "I don't want to. Work for her anymore, I mean."

"You don't?"

Newt shrugs. "Me working for her caused this whole fucking disaster. I can't be trusted with that much power. And we don't know if we’ll be able to get the hivemind out of my head completely. My entire career up to this point becomes moot if these fuckers are still swimming around my neurons in any capacity." He smiles, but it's strained. "Hell, I probably shouldn't be allowed near kaiju or jaeger tech ever again."

Hermann’s expression looks as if Newt just punched him in the gut. "No. I cannot accept that, Newt. I _will not_ accept it."

 _Protective, so protective it’ll get him killed someday_ , Newt thinks, scowling. “What do you mean, you _won’t_ accept it? Jesus… I almost killed you, Hermann! I can't risk that again!"

"You won't risk it if we're _together_!"

Hermann’s voice echoes loud through the corridor, ending with a snap as he clamps his jaw shut, fury and frustration evident in his eyes. Newt’s eyes widen, and his lips part of their own accord, shocked to separation. They hold the tension between them for a moment, and then Hermann’s eyes cool, composure washes over him again, and he looks down.

"Blast it... Newt, if I'd been there, I would've known something was going on. Do you know how furious I've been with myself, that I didn't make more of an effort to make sure you were okay?"

Newt's mouth has gone dry. "I'm not your kid, dude, you don't have a responsibility-"

"I'm your _friend_ , you obtuse prat. _Of course_ I had a bloody responsibility, to at least do what a friend does and watch out for you."

Newt hears the beginning of a growl in his throat as he spits out his own words. "Then I guess I get to join the shitty friend club too, ‘cause I _ran away_ instead of accepting-"

And then he stops.

 _Oh fuck no, don't tell him_ , Newt thinks, shutting his mouth. _No, no, no, no, he can't know, that'll be the end of everything._

Hermann’s eyebrows press down in confusion. "What could you possibly have needed to run away for?"

Newt shakes his head. "Nothing, I, uh, I misspoke. That's not what I meant."

"Liar!" Hermann bangs his cane against the bars, and it makes Newt jump. "Have you forgotten in this whole conversation that we're drift bonded? I can sense that fear, Newt. What are you not telling me?"

"Just leave it alone, Hermann, _please_ ," Newt begs. "You say you're my friend, so can you just be a friend and let me make my own choices? I haven't gotten to have a lot of those lately."

Hermann's hands are clinging to the bars of his cell, and he's wearing such a pained look, and Newt can sense the hurt across the bond... and god, Newt really wishes he could fix it, but he doesn't seem very good at fixing anything now.

Broken mind, broken tech, broken friendships. That's what he's left in his wake the last decade. Is it really a surprise he can't help but break Hermann now?

Newt watches as Hermann closes his eyes, breathes in and out... it looks like he's counting? Odd, that's a new habit, usually complex mathematics is more his taste. But the anger he senses from Hermann's side of the bond subsides. When he opens his eyes, he smiles.

"I need you to learn to trust me again," Hermann says. "Not in the way you did when I was the only possible way back to reality. That wasn't trust, it was desperation.

“No, listen," he says as Newt opens his mouth to reply. "I didn't risk my sanity to get you out of there out of some sense of guilt, or rational, logical consideration of how much of a loss you would be to the scientific community. I... bloody _hell_."

Hermann reaches a hand out between the bars. Newt hesitates, prays the hivemind doesn't try to take him over at this moment, and then clasps Hermann’s hand.

Hermann continues. "I did it because I feel... I feel _very deeply_ about you, Newton Geiszler. Deep, heretofore unknown things that terrify me, but less so than the idea of you not being in my life anymore."

Newt swallows hard, feels a little shiver, and it must be the cold of the cells, must be, because Hermann's hand is so warm… it contrasts beautifully with the air around them, the knot in Newt’s stomach, the bone-deep cold of the void.

"Herm...” Newt starts, slowly. “What are you saying?"

Hermann sighs, squeezes his hand. "Tell me why you ran away, Newt. Please."

Newt wants to, so badly. He wants to talk about that last fight, the note, the waiting, the despair. Wants to say all the things he kept bottled up inside for years, rotting away into a deep, fatal hurt, until it became his last lifeline in the void.

But he needs to know the hivemind is gone from one particular, vitally important memory before he'll risk speaking openly about it. Risk saying something that will ruin this all.

"Not yet,” Newt replies. He lets his thumb drift gently across the back of Hermann’s hand, an attempt at comfort rooted somewhere in an unconscious memory. “I promise, after we drift again. Just not now, okay?"

Hermann draws his hand back, slowly, as if unwilling, and nods. “Alright. Then I'll tell you about the kaiju attack after that as well."

Newt breaks eye contact, pulls up his legs onto the cot, and plays with the fraying edges of the sheet underneath him. "Yeah… cool. I should probably rest now. Thanks for, y’know, coming to see me."

He doesn't mean to be dismissive, but Hermann just gave him a lot to think about, and he needs some time to himself.

"I'll come back later," Hermann says. "I promise."

Newt listens to his cane _clack clack clack_  against the floor as Hermann walks away. When the sound is gone, he scoots farther back against the wall, resting his head on his knees and letting out a frustrated noise.

His hand is still warm where Hermann gripped it, as much as he'll allow himself now, rather than risk the hivemind finding a way to get his hands around Hermann's throat again.

 _It wasn't your fault, Hermann_ , Newt thinks. _I'm just a stubborn idiot who couldn't have a real conversation about feelings and it cost us ten years._

After the fight, after joining the Shao Corporation, procuring another kaiju brain... he'd made the choice to drift with it by himself again. So sure of his ability to handle the strain, wanting to keep tabs on the Precursors, make sure that if they tried to open the breach again, Newt would know.

They'd been clever at first, letting him sense their frustration as impotent rage, pretending they had no idea how to try again. It was too late when he realized what sorts of things he'd been programming into Liwen's code. He couldn't talk about it, couldn't warn anyone. His voice would stop, throat would close up, mind would tear apart as he tried to find some way to warn _somebody_. The darkness of the hivemind made the world fade away, only coming back to himself in flashes, until years had gone by where he floated in unawareness of the world.

Seeing Hermann again had been his last, desperate attempt to fix it. _You could come over and meet Alice_. The thing sitting in his bedroom, the thing the Precursors forced him to commune with every night, sharing secrets of humanity's defenses. But Hermann hadn't understood, had taken Alice to be a girlfriend or wife that Newt hadn't bothered to mention before.

That might've been the worst part, honestly? Making Hermann think there was anybody else in the world more important to Newt than he was. In truth, there's no one. He loved his father, loves his uncle. The universe astounds him through the intricate ways the laws of physics and spacetime work, and that could be described as some kind of love.

But Hermann... he's the only partner Newt wants, ever, in any capacity. He's insufferable, pedantic, and stuffy. He's sarcastic, brilliant, impetuous and protective. He's the last bit of hope Newt had to hold onto, the one person Newt trusted in the darkness to save him from his own disaster again.

After so many times in his life where he's been let down, walked away from, told he wasn't worth the trouble... Hermann had shown how much Newt was worth to him.

_I feel very deeply about you, Newton Geiszler._

God, hadn't that been a kick to the chest?

There's this not-knowing terror, wondering how deep that feeling goes, whether it's the same one Newt has. If it isn't... well, at least Hermann will be there again. At least they'll be something again.

But Newt knows that won't be enough.


	13. Bring You Home: Chapter 13

Newt remembers Jake Pentecost only vaguely, in flashes of a smart mouth and a cocky attitude that Newt only dreams of having. He barely remembers the man from the pre-Precursor era, seeing as other than Mako, Newt didn’t pay all that much attention to the Ranger cadets. He knows that Pentecost is one of the reasons they’re all still alive, that the Precursor’s plan failed. He also knows that, if anyone is going to blame him for Mako’s death, it’s Pentecost.

So, he's surprised to see the other man standing outside his cell when he wakes up. Pentecost is staring at him, studying him, chewing on something thin and pink...

"Is that Pocky?" Newt asks, blinking, bleary eyed and yawning.

"Mhmm. Hermann said you liked the stuff." Pentecost is leaning against the wall, hands shoved into his pockets, looking far too comfortable in a prison environment, so that Newt wonders if he’s ever been on the other side of a cell.

 _That’s racist, cut it out_ , Newt thinks to his own brain, which then proceeds to have a twenty second argument about whether the previous thought is, in fact, racist, citing sources from bell hooks to Ta-Nehisi Coates, ending in Newt realizing that he hasn’t responded, is just standing, staring at Pentecost, who probably expects a response.

Except explaining that the mere sight of Pentecost outside his cell spurred a furious internal argument about socially conscious cognitive biases would probably come off as… hella racist. So, he continues to say nothing.

Pentecost must get the hint that Newt isn’t planning on speaking, because he pulls a familiar pink, rectangular cardboard box from inside his bomber jacket and tosses it through the bars, onto Newt's bed.

"Figured you could use a pick me up or somethin'," Pentecost says.

"Uh, thanks…" Newt picks up the box of Pocky, staring at it. This is weird, this is definitely weird. Newt rips open the package anyway, bites down on the first stick, and smiles.

_Oh god sugar how I've missed you so so so so so much I can’t even articulate how much in rational human thought... hey hivemind, fuck you and your obsession with weightlifting and plain chicken breasts, that shit is the worst. I am getting my soft belly back ASAP._

Newt devours four more sticks before he remembers Pentecost is still staring at him. “Soooo…” he says, “how long was I out?"

Pentecost shrugs. "Dunno, Nate told me you were locked in here sometime last night. It's half past one in the afternoon."

"Holy shit,” Newt says, accounting for Hermann’s early evening visit and his passing out quite soon after, “I've been out for like, sixteen hours! I think the last time I did that was undergrad."

He munches on another biscuit, a curious eye fixed on Pentecost, and continues. "So welcome to my crib, it's definitely one of the roomier places I've bunked in while in the PPDC's custody. Any specific reason you're stopping by? Ranger Lambert ready to put me in front of a firing squad yet?"

Pentecost smiles. "Nah, mate. He's runnin' around tryin' to make sure the PPDC secures more funding for our next excursion. He's been meetin' with the council, flyin' out to talk to diplomats and ministers and all those sorts. Burnin' himself out is what he's doing, but the faster he works, the faster we can go after the Precursors."

"Wait, are you telling me you're gonna try to open the breach _again?_ " Newt stares at Pentecost like he's grown three heads, and then maybe a billion more who all have interconnected minds and want to murder them all to death. "Are you nuts? You want to give them another chance to destroy the earth?"

" _Mate_ ,” Jake says, the word being intoned like Newt is a naïve child who needs things explained to him very, very gently. “They're gonna try again at some point. This is a pre-emptive strike."

"Yeah, and if you're not prepared, you really will screw this shit up." Newt shakes his head, can't believe that he's the one trying to stop more contact with kaiju, but apparently, they've entered the Twilight Zone, and not any of the cool episodes with broken glasses in the apocalypse or pig-faced surgeons.

"And that's why I came t' talk to you," Pentecost says. "Liwen Shao is claiming you signed a contract to work for her for the next fifteen years. Is that true?"

Newt frowns at him. "What? I don't know, maybe? I really wasn't making my own decisions at the end there." He tries to recall what sort of negotiations he had made with Liwen recently. He remembers his last contract expiring in 2032, but the details after that are hazy, of course they are, it’s not like he’s an autonomous individual who wants to make his own choices, instead of a mentally imprisoned vessel for a mass of Anteverse beings to control, and did he mention _fuck the hivemind_ lately? He’ll say it again, just in case. _Fuck. The. Hivemind._

"Doesn't matter anyway,” Newt says, crunching on another biscuit. “I'm not working for her again."

"Really?” Jake’s expression goes from nonchalant to eager in about oh, point-oh-oh-oh-three seconds? “So, you'll be comin' back to the PPDC research division?"

Ah, so here’s what he’s been angling at. "No, I didn't say that. Like I told Hermann... it's probably not a good idea for me to be allowed near top-secret anti-Precursor tech anymore. Who knows what I could accidentally help them find out?"

Pentecost looks bewildered, as if he’d assumed this would be a simple ‘yes’ answer from Newt. Newt wonders who told him that Doctor ‘Only My Mother Uses My Title’ Newton Geiszler is an agreeable, easily swayed individual, because Newt will be having some _words_ with them.

"But, wait, Hermann is gettin' them outta your head, isn't he?” Jake asks.

“He’s trying to,” Newt replies. “But nothing is a guarantee, both in life and in trying to remove an Anteverse hivemind from your brain. Uh, the second one is part of the first, I guess.”

Jake shakes his head, seemingly not okay with this answer. “I don’t believe this. So, what, you’re just gonna hide down here while your best mate slash life partner goes it alone? That’s not the Dr. Geiszler I’ve heard about. Nah, the Dr. Geiszler everybody talks about jammed a probe in a kaiju brain and drifted with it to save the world, even though he knew it might not work, or might kill him.”

Newt scowls, folding his arms. “Well, sorry I’m not living up to your grand, ridiculous expectations of me, kiddo. Maybe losing ten damn years of conscious agency made me warier of what exactly I hook my brain up to.”

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Jake barks, scrubbing his hands into his hair. “Aren’t you jumpin’ at the chance for vengeance?”

“I could try that,” Newt says, “or, how about instead, maybe I’ll just enjoy _having my fucking life back_. Know what? Keep your bribe.”

The sugar has turned sour in Newt's mouth. He tries to toss the box back at Jake, but it turns on the throw, hits one of the bars, and goes spinning to the ground, sticks of Pocky shooting out onto the floor and breaking in pieces. _Well, fuck._

Jake nudges one of the broken pieces with his toe. "Look, you’re not thinkin’ this through, Doc. I know you an’ Hermann have this whole star-crossed love thing goin' on-"

"What do you know about-"

" _Listen_ ," Pentecost says, fixing him with a hard look. "He can't protect you if the PPDC decides you should be court-marshaled for the MegaTokyo attack."

 _MegaTokyo._ That's the first concrete bit of information Newt's had about what occurred after he broke from reality.

"Oh fuck,” he says, “it's still there, right? There's like... tens of millions of people in that city..."

Jake frowns. "Nobody's told you? Nothing about-"

"Stop! Stop talking, keep it to yourself. I need to hear it from Hermann," Newt says, shaking his head. "And he won't- not yet."

Pentecost sighs, smacks his forehead. "You're both cracked.”

“Like I don’t already know it,” Newt shoots back.

“Look,” Jake says, “just mind the warning, yeah? Helping the PPDC might be the only way you make it out of this cell permanently." He pushes up off the wall, nodding at Newt. "Mako trusted you both, an' I trusted in her. Hope that's not a mistake."

Newt drops hard to the edge of the bed as Pentecost walks away. One word, that’s all it took, one particular name, but that’s enough to make the pain come crashing onto him all at once.

 _Mako_.

Newt sucks in a shuddering breath, swallows, as feelings he hasn't been allowed to feel finally well to the surface. Newt remembers hearing that she'd died, that the rogue Jaeger that the Precursors had forced him to build had been the cause. Remembers screaming inside his own head, unable to force the noise out of his restrained vocal cords, as the hivemind relished in his anguish.

Now he finally lets out a pained sound and drops his face into his hands.

_Fuck, Mako, I'm so sorry. I fucked everything up._

She'd been Stacker's wily, rebellious teenage girl while Newt had worked in Jaeger R&D, growing into a strong, poised young woman by the end. Always popping by the lab, asking after various experiments, just as fascinated by kaiju biology as Newt. Hermann would babble on about Jaeger tech and drift science while she politely listened, shooting Newt conspiratorial looks and smiles. She'd given him a small porcelain figurine of Trespasser for a birthday once, and he'd kept it on his desk ever since, wrapping it carefully when he'd left to join the Shao corporation.

After he'd left the PPDC, she'd sent him emails, talking about her day, or stupid internet memes, or how she missed him being around, and Hermann seemed lost without Newt there. He'd answered in the beginning, less and less as time went on, but she still wrote, and he thinks now that maybe she'd wanted someone outside of her daily world to vent to. He remembers her last email, or at least the last one he can remember: _They underestimate me so much, Newt. I'm worried it will lead us to disaster._

He feels wetness on his palms, and sniffs, wiping his eyes. _Stacker would've been so proud of you, Mako. I wish I'd told you that. I wish I was there for you more._

He wishes a lot of things he can't change now. The one thing Mako was that he's never been is brave. Maybe if he'd had an ounce of her courage, none of this would've occurred. Would she really want him to help the PPDC again? Would she trust him to not fuck things up as badly as he's done? 

 _I want to fix things,_  Newt thinks, staring at the broken bits of Pocky scattered across the concrete. _I owe her that, even if she’s not here to see it._

He wants to fix it all. He just doesn't know _how._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the update schedule has been so scattered! Apparently work has decided to ramp up it's ass-kicking of me now that school is over. I also banged out a near 10k one-shot story that ties into this fic, though much later in the story. I'll let ya'll know a little about that later on. Next update will be Wednesday.


	14. Bring You Home: Chapter 14

_The hivemind is everywhere._

_It exists in every molecule and cell and atom and electron and quark of his body. It sings a siren song of Armageddon, broiling waves of fire crashing over every landmass, incinerating all life, every organism, down to the singular celled amoebas. It can hear every thought, every desperate, pitiful cry trying to tear itself out of his throat, trying to rip apart the stitches binding his will, trying to warn off the apocalypse._

_The hivemind rakes claws made of rage and destruction through his mind, screeching chords that overwhelm and exhaust, a rabid, hungry thing that brooks no quarter. He is a hand reaching up through ten-thousand tons of earth that bury him, crush him, suffocate, no light, no air, no one coming to save him._

**_YOU ARE NOTHING HUMAN NEWTON_ **

**_JUST A SPECK OF DUST_ **

**_YOU DARE BELIEVE YOURSELF WORTHY OF CHALLENGING OUR MIGHT?_ **

**_WE ARE THE COLLECTIVE UNCONSCIOUS MADE CONSCIOUS_ **

**_WE ARE THE CHAOS OF SPACE AND TIME MADE ORDERED_ **

**_WE ARE COMING WE CANNOT BE STOPPED WE CANNOT BE SATED_ **

**_YOU ARE NOTHING HUMAN NEWTON_ **

**_WE WILL SHOW YOU_ **

_Screaming, they're all screaming._

_Dad and Uncle Illia and Mako and Hermann, voices cracked and shattered and turned to dust, all to dust, (no please no please don’t go please don’t leave me ALONE again) Newt watches them burn and bleed and atomize and die and he can't stop it, can't do ANYTHING, he isn't strong enough, smart enough, brave enough (not enough never enough failed you I failed you I’m sorry PLEASE DON’T GO), and the world burns around him, until he is the last living thing in the universe._

_Alone now, all alone for eternity, watching the world burn and bleed and atomize and die over and over again (all dark no light all cold no heat I’m lost I lost I LOST YOU ALL), watching Dad and Uncle Illia and Mako and Hermann scream and beg and reach for him and cry out for him, (no no no no PLEASE STOP THIS), saying NEWT we loved you why can't you stop this why can't you NEWT why can't you NEWT-_

"NEWT!"

Someone is shouting.

Hermann.

Hermann is shouting.

Newt feels concrete under his hands, fire searing through his head, and hears himself yelling hoarsely.

The hivemind screams in his head, won't stop, **_NOTHING YOU ARE NOTHING YOU ARE NOTHING-_**

"I c-can't, f-fuck!" Newt yells, dropping to his elbows as another lash sears through his mind. "Stop it, leave me the hell alone, you're not in control anymore!"

**_NOTHING YOU ARE NOTHING YOU ARE NOTHING-_ **

"Newton, listen to me! Look at me, I need you to open your eyes, Newt!" Hermann shouts.

And Newt tries.

**_NOTHING_ ** _no that’s not true **WORTHLESS** fuck OFF **ABANDONED-**_

_No_ , Newt thinks. _Not by him._

_Never by him._

Newt gasps and forces his eyes open, vision clearing to see Hermann on the floor, pressed against the bars, hand stretched through. Hermann’s jaw is set, eyes full orbs, hair unkempt, and he must’ve been sleeping, but now he’s reaching for Newt, hand grasping, fingers stretched out, a lifeline, if Newt can just take it…

“Newton,” Hermann says, "Whatever they're telling you, it's not true, don't listen to it! I'm here, I’m here, I promise, _I’m here_."

**_KILL BURN RIP BLEED TEAR WEAKNESS HUMAN WEAKNESS WE WILL BLOT IT OUT-_ **

"They h-hate you, Hermann," Newt chokes out through gritted teeth. "Everyon-nnnhh… Th-that I care about. What- what if they never leave? _Nnnnghh_! Get the fuck out of my head!"

He slams his fist into the ground, and pain shoots up through his knuckles. He wants to bash his brains against the floor, wants to stab a knife inside and cut the hivemind out, but he can't, oh god, _why can't he_?

"Newton, listen to my voice, I want you to concentrate on it." Hermann shifts up onto his knees, holding onto the bars. "I'm going to count to five and I want you to breathe in, and then out on the next count. Eyes on me, _mein Schatz_. Please, can you do that?"

"What, nnngh... I guess? I'll try."

Newt's fingernails are buried in his palms, and every nerve ending shoots pain, the hivemind pressing in on him to give in, relinquish control.

But Hermann is here, not like before, when he was so alone, the last lonely speck of free thought drowned by a wave of other consciousnesses.

Newt takes a breath. Hermann smiles, nods, and takes his own breath.

"Good, just listen. Breathe in, one, two, three, four, five..."

Newt listens.

Number repetition is simple enough that it can cut through the shrieking, the count striking in his mind heavy and firm as Hermann speaks in a strong, unwavering voice. Newt struggles to breathe at first, but keeps trying, keeps pushing towards the numbers, in for five, out for five, over and over again, like a ticking metronome.

_One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five._

It _is_ a metronome. He remembers the ticking devices and their smooth, constant clicks back and forth in perfect rhythm. He remembers sitting on the bench of each piano his father used to tune. Jacob would set the devices and test the sharpness and length of each note against the _click clack click clack_  noise, and Newt remembers being small, before Uncle Illia came to join them, being taken to sit and watch his father work. Later, he remembers fingertips pressed to the smooth, cold keys, fumbling out erratic, amateur notes, trying to keep in time with the _click clack click clack_ , and later still, hitting strong, crisp, certain notes, eyes closed as his fingers tumble one over the other in concertos of Bach, Beethoven, Billy Joel and Billy Idol.

_One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five._

Hermann's voice is a metronome, soothing and steady. The pain subsides as Newt draws more oxygen into his lungs, lets the numbers and the rhythm take over his conscious awareness. He slumps to the side, against the iron legs of the cot...

Oh, he's on the floor. How'd that happen?

"…two, three, four, five... Keep counting in your head," Hermann says.

 Newt closes his eyes, the numbers _click clack_ -ing, piano notes crisp and sharp, up and down, over and over.

Someone is saying something, something else clicks and metal squeaks. Then warm arms wrap around him, drawing him against a warm chest. Newt sinks against it, boneless, breathing metronomically.

"You're alright, Newton. You're back with us."

Hermann is here. Hermann is the one holding him, mumbling against his neck, rubbing a soothing hand across his back. Newt was falling, drowning, but now he can’t be, that’s impossible, because Hermann is here, solid, warm, real.

"I'm getting Dr. Pitafi," a voice says. Newt opens his eyes, sees Ranger Reyes watching them from the open cell door, looking concerned. "He looks white as a sheet. I'll be right back."

"What happened?" Newt asks, lifting his head to give Hermann a questioning look. "How'd I end up on the floor?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Hermann says, sitting back a bit. "It's past three in the morning. I woke up from a nightmare, and I assumed I was the one screaming, but… Newton, you were screaming. _Inside my head._ ”

"Shit. I was dreaming," Newt says. The lateness of the hour draws a yawn out of him, despite the topic at hand being anything sleep or boredom inducing. "Everything was on fire, everyone was burning. Fuck, dude, it was just a dream, right?"

"Of course," Hermann says. "We're all still here and I'm almost certain none of us are on fire."

"Well that's good- ow! Shit..." Newt winces, an unconscious flex of his hands bringing attention to the pain in his knuckles, split and bleeding where he'd punched the ground in a vicious desperation earlier.

"You've hurt yourself," Hermann says, pointing out the obvious, and he clasps the injured hand gently, palm upright underneath it, thumb and forefinger on either side of his wrist. Newt watches Hermann's emotional journey as he digs into his pocket, realizes that it's the middle of the night, and of course he's got nothing that could staunch the bleeding, looks around the cell, finds nothing there to help, and eventually settles for cradling Newt's hand in his lap, a few drops of blood dripping onto his pajama pants.

"That's gonna be a pain in the ass to get out," Newt comments.

"More of a pain in the ass than you are normally?" Hermann shoots back.

Newt smiles, Hermann smiles back, eyes drooping but expression fond, and Newt feels his heart skip a beat. He’s so close, it’d be so easy to just reach up, tug him down, end this uncertainty…

Wait. There’s a reason he’s in this cell.

"You shouldn't be in here," Newt says, starting to panic, pushing Hermann away, getting a streak of blood on his shirt, but that's less pressing than what he's worried about. "Hermann, the hivemind-"

"Oh, _sod_ the bloody hivemind, Newt! I don't give a damn."

Hermann cups a hand to the back of Newt's neck to keep him from pulling away, and the touch makes him shiver, his skin prickling with the contact. Hermann's determined eyes lock to his own.

_Damn it, I can't handle him looking at me like that, fuck..._

"You scared me half to death again,” Hermann continues in a quiet, low voice. “And furthermore, you should not be alone down here."

This isn’t fair, this isn’t goddamn fucking fair. Why can’t Newt just enjoy this moment, this bit of tenderness and care, without worrying that the hivemind will bubble up again, and he’ll black out, only to come to with Hermann cold on the floor beneath him, his hands wrapped around the other man’s neck?

 _Your affection for me is going to get you killed someday_ , Newt thinks, shaking his head. _If not because of the hivemind, then because of something else risky and dangerous I’ll end up doing that you’ll try to protect me from._

"Look,” Newt says. “You can stay down here; can you please just go outside the cell again? I mean it. You're making me _so_ nervous right now, dude."

Newt sits back, and he must look distressed enough that Hermann lets him slide out of his grip and back up onto the cot, though he seems reluctant. Newt curls his legs up and rests his bleeding hand in his lap, leaning back against the wall. Hermann sighs and gets up.

"Alright,” Hermann says, brushing his pajama pants off. “Though I must say, you as the overly cautious one is an irritating change from our usual status quo."

“Dude,” Newt says, “I tried to choke my uncle. Overly cautious is not the phrase you’re looking for.”

Hermann exits the cell, turning around and sliding the door shut. It locks with a loud _click._ "Is this better?"

Newt nods, the panicky feeling in his chest subsiding. "Yeah, thanks."

Dr. Pitafi shows up a moment later. She checks his blood pressure, heart rate, eyes and throat, and temperature. There's a first-aid kit on the wall, and she bandages his knuckles, scolding him cheerily about blood-borne illness transmissions, as if he's going to infect Hermann with the hivemind through a few stray drops of blood. Hermann stands quietly outside, watching him, but Newt avoids his gaze.

"You're a bit feverish," Dr. Pitafi says, pulling her thermometer out of his mouth. "If I were working with a normal patient, I might attribute it to your body reacting to the chill down here and being susceptible to illness because of it. However, seeing as you are not the average patient, for all I know, it could be the hivemind again."

"This is why I insist we work faster, Hadiyya," Hermann says, tapping his cane on the floor. "He's in a dangerous position and ridding him of the hivemind will only do him good. Perhaps in the morning..."

"Dr. Geiszler still needs more rest, Hermann," Dr. Pitafi says, shaking her head. "We have to balance the effects of the drift with the effects of the hivemind."

“I just witnessed one of those _effects_ , Hadiyya,” Hermann says. “And I felt it in my own mind. The human body’s capacity for stress is not unlimited, and the longer we wait, the longer we risk deleterious effects that are irreversible.”

“Which one of us has more thoroughly studied the effects of stress, trauma, and the drift on the brain, Hermann?” Dr. Pitafi shoots back, folding her arms. “Yes, the hivemind is a new variable, but in comparison to the variables we already have the data for, it does not change my thoughts on the recovery period Dr. Geiszler needs.”

"She's probably right, Herm," Newt says, leaning to the side and collapsing onto the cot. He's exhausted, and not in the mood to listen to this. "It's been what, two days? Not even? Regular Jaeger pilots need recovery time, and they're not connected to an angry, spiteful mass of minds bent on their destruction."

Hermann scowls. "You're supposed to be on my side in this, Newton."

"I'm on the side of neither of us _dying,_ " Newt says, yawning again. "For once, I'm being the responsible one."

"Bloody... fine." Hermann's cane strikes hard on the ground as he walks away. "Get all the rest you need. I’ll refrain from bothering you in the meantime."

" _Hermaaaaan_ , don’t be like that, come on, man!" Newt calls out, but there's no response. Fuck.

He tilts his head to look up at Dr. Pitafi as she packs her medical bag up. "How do I get in trouble for being the responsible adult in this scenario? I can't win."

Dr. Pitafi shakes her head, smiling. "He's just worried. He's been fretting over you since we started this."

Newt grins. "Hermann, fretting? I've never seen _that_  before."

To his surprise, she pats him on the shoulder. "Someday, Dr. Geiszler, we're going to sit down for a drink and a discussion about what makes Hermann Gottlieb tick, because I've known him for over ten years and still can't figure it out."

"First off, I’ve been meaning to mention, call me Newt, only my mother calls me by my title. Secondly, I've known him for over twenty years," Newt says, closing his eyes. "And believe me when I say, that is one mystery of the universe I’ve yet to solve."

~

Thankfully, there are no more nightmares, and Newt sleeps for the next several hours. When he wakes up, the clock on the wall outside the cell says it's half past seven.

He opens his eyes to a change: a cot has been placed against the wall outside the cell, perpendicular to Newt’s line of sight, and there's a form lying on it, wrapped in a thick blanket. The only thing visible is the top of their head: familiar, straight brown hair, and the tip of a thin, flat nose.

"Hermann?" Newt yawns, lifting his head up. "The hell are you doing?"

“Already told you, Newton…" Hermann mumbles, obviously half-asleep. "…not comfortable with you being alone while slumbering… can be here if you have another nightmare again."

A thing a little like love blooms in Newt’s chest, and he can’t help but smile.

"But your hip..."

"Sod the bloody hip… only few days. Now pipe down… I barely slept last night."

Newt lowers his head back down. "Alright. Thanks, Hermann."

Hermann grunts in reply, and they both fall back asleep, more easily than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: blood (only a bit!)
> 
> *whispers* you guys this fic is getting so long omg, I am terrified of how much plot I crammed in this fic


	15. Bring You Home: Chapter 15

They've provided him with an old-school mp3 player for distraction, at least thirty years behind the times. _For all the advanced tech around here, you'd think they could do better than shitty old Apple products_ , Newt thinks, but he suspects they don't want him interacting with anything internet capable, lest the hivemind try something. So, he sits, blasts AC/DC into his ears, and practices counting. He's surprised at how effective it's been to quiet the hivemind. He’s surprised that _Hermann_ is into meditation and breathing exercises now. He’s been surprised by a lot of stuff this week.

“No stop signs, speed limit, nobody’s gonna slow me down!” Newt sings, thumping his head against the wall. Maybe, just maybe, the hivemind doesn’t like being subjected to high-volume 80s hard rock with a dash of concrete headbanging. Maybe they’ll jump ship.

 _Fat chance_.

He's so lost in the music and counting, that he jumps slightly when he hears a loud thump.

"I know you're not ignoring me for music, you're not fifteen anymore."

Uncle Illia is leaning against the bars, arms casually draped through, an amused look on his face, so reminiscent of the one he wore when he’d caught Samar and Newt in an ‘indelicate situation’ that one summer. He’d just sighed, told them to use protection, and shut the door.

"Uncle!" Newt jumps up and hugs him as best as he's able through the bars "You're lucky I'm not fifteen, or you might catch me doing something even worse."

"Don't remind me, your sock drawer was a constant crime scene. I made you start doing your own laundry for a reason."

Newt laughs. "Yeah, that was a mortifying conversation. What are you still doing here, though? You never did well with sea air and cold weather."

"I wanted to make sure you were alright, nephew, do I need another reason?"

"I guess not. I just don't want you getting sick. The Geiszler men don’t have a great track record on living to a ripe old age. Grandpa, Uncle Liesel, dad; though that last one was kinda on me.”

Illia sighs. "Newton, will you ever let that go? Jacob's passing wasn't your fault."

"You keep saying that, I'm sure I'll believe it someday."

“Kid, you had a fight. A bad fight, sure.”

“Yeah,” Newt says. “A really fucking bad fight. Like a, ‘you’re throwing your life away, no son of mine is going to waste his mind on goddamn flights of fancy about saving the world from sea monsters’ kind of fight.”

“That wasn’t why he had the heart attack,” Illia replies.

“No,” Newt shoots back. “Me walking out on him was.”

Illia frowns. “Stop ascribing correlation to causation, you’re too brilliant a scientist for that.”

“Yeah, well we all have our biases,” Newt grumbles. He frowns when Illia reaches up to stroke a hand over his hair. "I'm not a kid anymore, you know that, right?"

Illia shrugs. "And yet you continue to find this comforting. Even Dr. Gottlieb has found that out."

"You _told_  him? Jesus fuckin' Christ, no wonder..." Newt can feel the heat in his face rising. "First the journals, then the hair petting. What next? My teenage hentai collection?"

Illia snorts. "I only gave him relevant information, kid. Would you prefer to still be trapped by the Precursors?"

"Not particularly, I'd just like him to not know every little embarrassing secret I've ever had."

"Do you expect him to use them against you?"

"What? No! Of course, not..." Newt sighs, shaking his head. "He already knows how weird I am."

"Then what's the issue?"

Newt scowls. "The issue is my life being put on display for everybody to see! The- the freaking issue is me no longer having any control over what people know about me!"

"Over what Dr. Gottlieb knows about you," Illia corrects. "Considering he's the only one who's had access to any information I've provided, or information you've accessed in the drift."

"Uncle..."

Newt doesn’t know how to explain it. For all he is brilliant at cataloguing, analyzing and interpreting the mysteries of the universe, he doesn’t know how to make Illia understand that there are pieces of Newt that he isn’t ready for Hermann to know about.

Things… things about his mom, about his sense of abandonment, because as much as his uncle could try to give, it still hurt to watch his classmates picked up after school and swung joyously about by attentive mothers and fathers, hurt to stand on stage at every graduation, middle school, high school, undergrad, six PhDs, and not see the person who gave birth to you, not because she couldn’t, but because she didn’t want to.

Things about his dad, their tumultuous relationship, their shared love of music, Jacob’s struggle to provide Newt with the education and opportunities his brilliance deserved, the longer hours away as Newt grew older, the growing sense of abandonment, the screaming matches. The one final argument at age twenty-three that had ended with Newt out of contact for two weeks, only to come back and find Jacob gone to a place he’ll never receive Newt’s olive branch, and a freshly buried tombstone.

Things about his constant, lifelong struggle with impostor syndrome, covering up his self-doubts with punk rock flair, snappy comebacks, intricate tattoos and a ‘jack of all trades, master of absolutely all of them’ level of knowledge, so that no one could ever make him feel small or useless or unworthy ever again.

It’s not that he and Hermann have never talked about painful, personal things. Fuck, he’s told Hermann some of the worst of the worst. He probably knows even more, now that he’s had unfettered access to Newt’s journals for the better part of a month. And that’s terrifying, because what… what if it’s changed the way Hermann thinks of him?

Fuck, it probably has already.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

Okay, so all that unfettered Newton information has probably certainly definitely changed the way Hermann views him.

The question is… for the better? Or the worse?

Illia sits down on the cot next to his cell, slowly lowering himself, showing all of his age in one moment of careful, burdened motion.

“You've always been afraid of letting people in, Newton," Illia says. “But that man is the first person I've ever seen you call a friend for longer than a few months. That man is risking his life for you every time he drifts with you. So, I'm still failing to see what you're afraid of here."

Newt rolls his eyes, feeling like the petulant sixteen-year-old he once was, and still kind of is sometimes. "Why are you always so invested in my letting other people in? Other people kind of suck."

Illia raises an eyebrow. "Dr. Gottlieb?"

"No, fuck, of _course_ not." Newt sits on his cot, rubbing a hand down his face. "Hermann and I... why do you care so much about who we are to each other?"

"I'm getting old, kid," Illia says, closing his eyes and shrugging. "I won't be around to watch out for you forever."

"Oh, come on, way to be a downer."

He doesn’t even want to consider the idea of Illia being gone. He’s already lost so many people along the way, and yet he can’t escape the fact that Illia is getting older, and the Geiszler early death count has a sample size of at least n=3, Illia being the only one to break 60, and still, 72 is kinda old but it’s still _not old enough, damn it._

"I'm serious. When I’m gone, I need to know someone else cares enough to protect your crazy, risk-taking ass from yourself.”

“Hey!”

“Just telling it like it is, kid. And I've been watching the way Dr. Gottlieb looks at you, how he talks about you, like you're the center of his universe."

Newt swallows hard, letting out a hoarse laugh. "That's a little much."

Illia shakes his head, and smiles. "No. You know who it reminded me of? Myself. Raising you has been the most satisfying thing I've ever done in my life, kid. You were the center of my universe, Newton. Still are, even though we haven't talked much lately."

"I... I should've written more," Newton says, dumbstruck by the genuineness of his uncle's words.

“Nah, you had better things to do, like saving the world, kid.”

There’s that ache, that old familiar ache, of disappointing someone he loves. He’s been feeling it a lot since he ‘woke up,’ in the stilted, awkward silences that he and Hermann sometimes share, unsure where they’d left off, what’s off-limits to talk about, how their dynamic will play out after ten years of rust and the transition from late youth to middle-age.

"No, wait, it's not- I love you, Uncle,” Newt says, trying to figure out how to put it all in words. “But I was hurting, and I didn't want to talk to anyone. And then with the Precursors... it wasn't my choice after a point."

"Why were you hurting?" Illia asks. Hah, isn’t that the question of the decade.

"I thought… fuck, I thought he'd rejected me," Newt says, voice soft, like he's afraid someone else will hear, like _Hermann_ will hear, coming ‘round the corner to shout _Aha, aha, I knew it, I knew you were mad for me, and your madness is ghastly to behold_.

Hermann would totally use a word like ‘ghastly’ while tearing Newt’s heart to shreds.

Newt continues when no one jumps out from any hiding spots.

"But the dumb thing is, now I don't know? And if I was wrong, then I caused so many bad things, Uncle, because of a miscommunication. I fucked up, and people _died_ , all because I was too scared to be honest with him. What if, like, he finds out… and he hates me for it?"

He can’t stand the thought of Hermann hating him, _really_ hating him, not his general, furious annoyance at Newt’s quirks, tendencies towards rash decision-making, and tendencies towards drawing Hermann into said rash decision-making. No, he can’t stand the idea of Hermann looking at him, seeing all his flaws, mistakes, the consequences of his actions, his imperfect self, and saying _that is a person I no longer wish to associate myself with, in any capacity._

"Ah."

Illia is quiet for a long moment, and the fear and guilt bubbling inside Newt grows, and it grows, and it’s ready to burst him open, the dam of his self-esteem snapping apart as the floodwaters of self-hatred drown him.

But then, Illia speaks.

"You know… raising you, there were so many times where I'd thought the same thing.” Illia opens his eyes and turns his head to look at Newt. The pure, genuine expression of pain, self-doubt, the self-same one Newt sees in the mirror, reflected in his uncle’s eyes, well, it nearly bowls him over.

“Disciplining you too harshly,” Illia continues. “Those occasional outbursts, taking my anger out on you because your father left me to deal with everything. Not giving you the emotional support you needed, never enough to replace the love you deserved. Every time, I thought, now I've done it, now this beautiful boy will hate me forever.”

“Uncle…” Newt is speechless, until he’s not. “I could never hate you. You- the only reason I’m half as amazing and successful at life is because of you. How could you even think that?”

Illia smiles. “Sometimes you completely miss the point, Newton. Despite all my flaws, you still loved me. And despite all _your_ flaws, Dr. Gottlieb will still love you."

Newt can’t look at him, can’t look at how sure and certain his smile is, so he bows his head, pressing his face to his hands.

"…Uncle. Thank you." Newt smiles against his hands. "I, uh, I love you a hell of a lot."

He hears Illia chuckle. "And I love you, kid. Always have, always will."


	16. Bring You Home: Chapter 16

Liwen finds him that evening, poring over a book about string theory that Illia brought for him to read. It’s nothing fancy, more for the layman’s edification than someone with his level of knowledge of quantum entanglement and the fifteen ( _not eleven, we’ve moved past eleven_ ) potential dimensions of existence. But for Newt, it’s basically the equivalent of an old favorite well-worn novel, comfort food, something to distract his mind so he doesn’t have to think about the cool, lonely cell, or Hermann’s necessary lateness in the lab tonight, working on things he still can’t talk to Newt about, and that is a goddamn _tragedy_ of the highest order.

"Dr. Geiszler," is how Liwen addresses him.

That’s _always_ how she’s addressed him, never mind he explained when they first started working together that, yanno, he prefers the nicknames, but Liwen has never been anything if not entirely professional. He supposes the formality is either a sign of respect for his work, or a distancing method, a reminder that he is her employee, that she has no time or need for establishing a friendship, despite how closely they’ve worked together the last decade.

She's dressed to kill as usual, this time in an immaculate black pantsuit, white button-down shirt, and heels you could stab somebody’s eye out with. She's wearing the same crimson red lipstick she always wears to important meetings. He'd asked her once why and she'd called it her _Chi Xiao_ , which apparently had something to do with an Emperor's sword and old Chinese dynasties and bloody skies. A neat metaphor, and very Liwen. Whatever disagreements they’ve had over the inherent destructive nature of unchecked capitalism, he's always admired her voracious drive for success. It matched nicely with his insatiable push for discovery. At least it had before the hivemind.

"You are capable of having a rational conversation now, I've heard from Dr. Pitafi," Liwen says.

"Yep. Herm said you tried to shoot me," Newt says, returning his eyes to the text. "I can't say I blame you, but the face, really? Like, an arm or a kneecap would have done it." He generally likes his face, likes having it remain attached to the rest of his head and body. Hermann seems to like that too, hence his stopping Liwen from shooting Newt.

"Consider yourself lucky, I am an excellent shot. You would not be alive if Dr. Gottlieb had not intervened,” Liwen replies, resting her hands on her hips, the picture-perfect image of a woman who is over his bullshit. About ninety-five percent of his remembered interactions with Liwen usually end like this. Good to know some things haven’t changed.

Newt licks his thumb and turns a page, because he is _old-school_ and super into vintage and… paper books are all they’ll let him have. "Tell me something I don't know. What do you want?"

"Close the book," Liwen says.

"I can multi-task. It’s how I built your drones and coded world destruction into your software at the same time. I’m multitalented really, you should be-"

" _Xiànzài!_ " Liwen snaps, voice amplified by the concrete walls, echoing like a shot.

Newt closes the book. He knows when she's pissed.

She continues. "I do not have time for your games, Dr. Geiszler. I have a meeting in Hong Kong proper in exactly thirty minutes, and I wish to discuss something."

"Fine, fine, you're always up my ass about something..." Newt sits up, feeling very under-dressed comparatively, in his t-shirt and sweats. The vests and tailored suits were douche-tastic, but damn it, having money to indulge in his latent fashion impulses was the one part of selling his soul to late-stage capitalism he’d actually _liked_. Not that the Precursors really let him wear what he wanted after a certain point.

If he ever gets to leave this godforsaken shithole, he’s going down to Madam Mimi’s Leather Emporium and buying every fucking jacket in the store. Maybe they sell skinny ties… and if not, plenty of bazaars in Hong Kong can indulge that want.

Newt continues. "What’s up?"

Liwen has a briefcase resting on the floor, and now she opens it and pulls out a small tablet.

"I've been going over records,” she says, tapping on the screen. “Specifically, records of your time in the company. Your research files show no abnormalities that would imply you were working for the hivemind, other than the obviously tampered code and addition of kaiju brains to our drone designs. However, I discovered other abnormalities."

"Such as?"

She holds a tablet through the bars. He takes it, and curls up on the cot, scrolling up and down. There are sets of three letters, and he recognizes the letters PVG, dates and times listed DEPARTURE and ARRIVAL, and underneath each set is a list of names. The screen shows flight itineraries, and by the dates, they’re from years and years back, all between March and September of 2027.

“What the hell are all these?” Newt asks. The dates and times hold no meaning to him, just random schedules, and he doesn’t recognize any of the passengers listed.

"In 2027, you claimed on your records to attend six separate tech development conferences,” Liwen says. “The records from all flights chartered between Shanghai and the respective cities you were supposed to visit do not show you as a passenger. One discrepancy may be understandable, but six are highly improbable. You were gone a week each time, and records from your supposed return flights also do not list you."

Newt scrolls through the information, but the data doesn’t pair with any past experiments he can remember. "Okay, honestly, I’m drawing a blank on all of this, Liwen. I was probably infected by the hivemind at this point, and they didn’t let me remember much."

What he does remember past the first few years, after his control had been fully stolen away, besides the moments where his true self struggled to the surface for a brief interlude, was the lab work. Late hours when no one was watching, pulling up his code and programming overrides that the Precursors wanted, sneaking smuggled kaiju parts into drone prototypes, bits of brain tissue he’d hacked off Alice; because, in addition to bioengineering giant mega monsters, they’d apparently given some of the later models of kaiju brain self-regenerative abilities. It’s how he was able to create hivemind-controlled drones: just hacking bits off over time and growing new brains. The science behind it is pretty neat, and if not for trying to destroy all of humanity, Newt would definitely give them mad props for their bio-hacking. If he could reverse-engineer the technique, maybe apply it to human tissue regeneration, the consequences for patients in need of new vital organs, or patients with degenerative conditions, or ‘irriversible’ brain damage… it would be _amazing_. That’s if they ever let him near a lab again.

"When did you begin drifting with them again?" Liwen asks. Oh, great, more questions about the worst fucking decision of his entire life. This conversation keeps getting better.

Newt thinks back, draws out the memory of his third drift, not too long after the Triple Event. "I think... almost immediately. Yeah, practically stole the Mutavore brain on my way out the door. Had one of my connections steal it out of the PPDC’s custody. I… I remember knowing that they’d just ignore the potential we had to predict Precursor strategy through continued drifting, so I took it upon myself to do it for them."

Yes, that sounds… that’s what he remembers. Though looking back on it, why would he think the PPDC wouldn’t take the opportunity to abuse kaiju drifting once they knew it was a possibility? Maybe, wait, maybe he’s forgetting something, _fuck_. If only he could remember… what he’s forgotten.

 _Christ,_ _now that’s a thought Hermann would give you a thousand-yard stare for saying out loud, Newt. He’d probably ask if you’d been smoking something recently, the cocky bastard. And you’d be like, nah, Herms, I’m just high on that good kaiju hivemind shit, wanna join me?_

Is it bad that sometimes, in the quieter moments, he’ll feel this, this itch under his skin, this tingling in the back of his brain, this urge to reach out, reconnect, drift with the hivemind again? Why is he even asking himself; yeah, of course it’s bad, like super mega horrifying to admit. He knows that Pentecost took out Alice, knows that there’s nothing left in this dimension that could bridge him back to them besides the last clinging connections in his own head. But what he remembers saying to Hermann in the lab, _hell of a rush_ … it wasn’t a lie.

The hivemind _hurt_ , every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every year. It tore into his head when he realized what it had done and tried to fight back, wearing down his will, shredding apart his memories, his sense of self, taking everything away, erasing _Newt_ as best it could and leaving _Doctor Newton Geiszler_ , a hollow shell it could exploit for destruction…

Except during the drifts.

When they drifted, Newt came back to himself for a while. Maybe the singularity of his own consciousness gave him more direct control of the connection than the swarm had, maybe they just wanted to exploit more of his memories, but Newt chased the R.A.B.B.I.T. in those drifts, chased it hard, the last way to connect to himself, to remember, _I am Newt, I was real, I lived._

And to touch those memories of people, places, of the person he was… there’s no high in the world like your own existence.

" _Dr. Geiszler_.”

Newt realizes he’s in his own head, and has been ignoring Liwen, who is holding her hand expectantly.

“Oh, what?” Newt asks.

“I need that again. There is more to show you,” Liwen replies.

Newt slides it through the bars and Liwen taps a few things before handing it back. This time, there are strings of numbers, next to dates and military time listings, and after a moment, Newton recognizes them as IP address connections.

"These are records of your home web traffic for the last ten years," she says.

Newt whips his head up, glaring. "You monitored my personal communications? What the _fuck_ , Liwen?"

Liwen looks unimpressed with his show of emotion. "I take internet security highly seriously, which I would have assumed Dr. Gottlieb had beaten into you, but fortunately for us, it did not stick. _Unfortunately_ for us, the data is too old to tell us exactly what you were up to. However, there was communication between your IP address and the one I have highlighted multiple times per week for at least a year, which occurred during the same period of these unknown excursions."

So, he was disappearing to random locations and talking to mysterious people. Definitely helpful clues, right here.

"I don't... Liwen, I seriously don't remember," Newt says.

Liwen shrugs. "That is not a problem. There is only one IP address it matches in our database. Internal PPDC communications."

Newt stares at her. "Are you saying I was talking to someone in the PPDC?"

"Yes.” Liwen nods. “More specifically, someone operating out of the reopened Los Angeles Shatterdome."

Newt frowns, flicking through the data. "Can't have been Hermann then. He got shipped off to the re-opened Nagasaki Shatterdome for the first few years."

Just because Hermann had- just because they’d had a _falling_ out, doesn’t mean Newt didn’t pay attention to where he’d gone, what he was up to in the interim. He’d meant to write, he’d meant to. It had just taken a while to work up the courage, and then a while turned into years, and then most of those years were spent with the hivemind not _letting_ him reach out…

Oh, they’d kept their own track of Hermann, because if he’d had the opportunity to be around Newt again for a while, he would’ve _known_ something was wrong, would’ve tried to _do_ something. Then again, maybe it’s for the best, because if Hermann had tried to help him then, the hivemind would’ve _done something_ of their own, and there would’ve been no Liwen to save them. Newt knows, because sometimes he’d tell them, _just you wait, he’ll find me, he’ll know, he’ll stop this_ , and then they’d show him visions of what they would do to Hermann if he tried, nightmares and horrors so real that his conscious would shatter to avoid the pain, reforming into the remainders of himself hours or days later.

"There are many possibilities as to whom you could have been speaking with,” Liwen says. “Keep in mind that after the Triple Event, most of the major PPDC operations were still being migrated out of Los Angeles, since the Anti-Kaiju wall was located there."

"Look, Liwen, I wish I could help you," Newt says. "But my memory from back then is still fucked. Whatever I was doing, I don't know. Why the hell do you even care?"

" _Because,_ ” Liwen says, eyebrows knitting to a hard frown, “if you were selling secrets to the PPDC while working for me, I will find out. And if you were, then I will be using every bit of power I have to ensure those illegally obtained secrets are returned to the control of the Shao Corporation."

Newt snorts. "You just can't take a loss, ever, can you, Liwen?"

That was the _wrong_ thing to say, he realizes, about point oh one seconds after he says it. She smiles at him, one of her tight smiles, red _Chi Xiao_ lips like a curved sword, and he feels his hackles going up, feels the press of the bricks behind his back, as if his body could sink into the wall and out of reach of her _terrifying_ smile.

"You know, Newton,” Liwen says ( _oh fuck she never calls me that oh fuck fuck fuck_ ), “I gave Dr. Gottlieb your Geisgott plans to protect my investment. Namely, your mind.”

“That’s funny ‘cause I’m pretty sure you don’t invest more money into a stock whose value has already crashed,” Newt cracks, screaming internally at his own inability to _shut the fuck up for once_.

Liwen’s eyes blaze fire, and Newt is very glad for the bars keeping them apart. She leans her hands on the middle bar, leaning in, voice freezing over with pure ice. “Perhaps. But if you were working with the PPDC from the beginning, then any trust we had is _broken_. I offered you my resources and the chance to be a part of something greater, and what did you waste it on? _Sentiment_. Loyalty to an organization that would have stymied your growth. Look where it has gotten you." She motions around.

“In my defense… I have no idea what I did nor why I did it?” Newt says. _Yeah, real convincing argument you’ve got there, Geiszler. Definitely gonna win her back over with that one._

"Effective as of now, you no longer work for my corporation," Liwen says, stepping back from the bars. "Keep the tablet. Consider the information on it your severance. And be thankful I knew none of this before you were taken into the PPDC’s custody. I do not take betrayal _lightly_. Do not come back to Shanghai."

Then she strides away, not looking back.

"Uh, I mean, oh _no_! Please don’t fire me… I’m, I’m really broken up about this! Gonna cry myself to sleep tonight!" Newt shouts as she walks away.

When she rounds the corner, he pumps a fist in the air. _Well, that solves that problem!_ She might be utterly furious with Newt, and he won’t be taking a jaunt back to catch up for old time’s sake any time soon… but whether she knows it or not, she just gave him good news, because contract enforcement is a legal clusterfuck, and now he doesn’t have to worry about her trying to drag him back to work for her.

 _Why would she even want me again?_ Newt thinks, lying back on the cot. _I practically destroyed her whole fucking company. I’m a liability._ It doesn’t make sense. Even before she knew about his intermingling with the PPDC, she had to have known that trusting him to work on her tech post-hivemind infection would be insanely stupid. And in effect, she’s helping him out by severing his contract, just like she helped Hermann out by turning over the plans that helped him build the modified Pons. Why turn over valuable tech designs to the PPDC when she could’ve sold it to the highest bidder?

Why help him at all?

 _She doesn’t trust me anymore,_ Newt thinks. _But she never really knew me, did she? She knew the Precursor-infected me, not the real me._

And then a lightbulb goes off. _But Hermann knew me._

Newt remembers Liwen telling him that he wasn’t to speak to Hermann before the conference, and he can’t be sure, but maybe that wasn’t a new thing. Maybe Liwen has always done this, has always seen Hermann as his own form of liability, someone who could draw Newt away from her and take away her investment. And Hermann, he would’ve _known_ , he would’ve known there was something wrong with Newt. So, by keeping Newt away from Hermann… she had inadvertently kept away the one person who could’ve sounded the warning.

 _Could that be it?_ Newt thinks. _Could it just be guilt?_

And yet… if she had known the extent of Newt’s loyalty to Hermann, the depth of his feelings… then how? Going by what he knows, the Precursors had taken over his mind quite early on, and they wanted him near Hermann even less, so the odds of them making Liwen aware of his feelings are slim.

Did someone tell her? The only one he’d been truthful with was Mako, but no, _no_ , Mako wouldn’t have betrayed him like that…

 _None of this makes sense_ , Newt thinks, rolling over and staring at the tablet, frowning at it. _There are pieces missing from this story._

He hides the tablet under his pillow. It's a shitty spot, but there's literally nowhere else to put it in this barren cell. Hopefully no one will search the space before he sees Illia again, and his uncle can keep it in his room until Newt has the chance to study the data in a more private setting.

Liwen is right about one thing. He was up to something before the hivemind infection, and someone in the PPDC knows what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to dont_be_hasty for making this fic better than it would be by my lonesome self!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone for all your amazing comments. I am being completely honest when I say every comment I get is like a little shot of motivation to keep writing. I know the time between chapters is stretching out a bit, but fleshing out the first draft is taking more and more work. I hope it's coming through how much I love working on this fic and how much I want it to be the best it can be, but I promise, I know where it's inevitably leading and this won't be one of those fics that never gets completed. It just keeps growing. And growing. And growing.


	17. Bring You Home: Chapter 17

Ranger Reyes comes to find him the next afternoon.

Newt thought he might’ve cracked this morning, he’s been so _bored_. Usually boredom leads to daydreaming, which leads to awesome, new scientific discoveries. But he’s not working on any projects, and he’s still trying to put his brain back together in working fashion. And then while they were chatting before Hermann left for the labs, he’d seen Hermann fingering a piece of _chalk_ (ten fucking years and the man still hasn’t transitioned to whiteboards). For the first time in his life, Newt is so glad that Hermann still lives partly in the 1980s, because Hermann gives him the chalk and the walls of his cell make a half decent chalkboard, and after Hermann leaves, Newt just goes… _nuts._

Half-finished sketches of his favorite kaiju, Jaegers crash landing into screaming chibi anime toons, anatomical drawings of both human and kaiju design, the smeared remains of what might’ve been a cartoon heart, and if one were to squint, one might notice the faint outline of the letters HG+ NG, but really, that could mean anything, and Newt certainly didn’t quickly rub it out in panic when his half-aware mind had realized what he’d done…

All of the designs are twisted and swirled around a circle Newt has drawn, tracing the outline, over and over, scratchy white trails disappearing inwards into its opaque, untouched center. The whole effect is that of everything being sucked into a void.

“You’re not one for subtlety, are you?” Reyes says, looking the drawing up and down.

Newt places the last bit of chalk onto his cot, not wanting to lose it. “I find that people respond better to blunt, hard truths. And before you ask, no, this doesn’t even come close to actualizing how it felt. Now what’s up?”

"Dr. Pitafi says your vitals from this morning looked good,” Reyes replies. “She's asking me to walk you up to the lab if you're ready to drift again."

“Fuck, yes!”

Newt lets out a whoop of joy, because it’s been almost a week of him staring at these walls, with little to do between the times that others join him. The chill keeps Illia from spending more than an hour or two down here. Pentecost stops by, seemingly bored and chatty, but Newt suspects he’s got other reasons, such as sussing out Newt’s mental status and reporting back to Lambert. Of course, Hermann comes as often as he’s able, but he’s still working quite a lot in the labs. So, there are still plenty of hours in the day for Newt to sit in silence and feel almost as lonesome as when he was trapped in his own head.

Since Hermann has also taken to sleeping down here, Newt hasn’t had any more nightmares. It’s probably Hermann’s presence doing it, that closeness that’s a whole ‘nother kettle of fish to examine. Maybe rather soon, depending on this next drift.

Newt grips the bars of the cell, bouncing on his heels. "Did you tell Hermann? No, wait… Yeah, you didn’t yet, because he’s currently operating at his usual level of somber, grave seriousness."

Newt can sense that low, muted focus. He will _feel_ when Hermann is informed of the drift opportunity, and that’s so new and odd, but pleasing, to be able to tell exactly how his partner is feeling, because Hermann _reaches_ for him now. Late at night, drifting off, Newt will sense something nudge inside his head, a reassurance across the forced separation of the cell, _I’m here_. During the long, lonesome hours, when Newt sends his yearning across the drift bond, mostly by accident, he’ll feel a _tug_ , a ghostly hand on the shoulder of his mind (try to imagine that, _yowza_ ), drawing him out of the darkness.

Hermann reaches, and Newt grabs on, clings to that connection, perhaps more than is healthy, but he needs it. Needs to know that this is actual reality, that it’s actually Hermann he’s connecting with, and not some construct dreamed up by the Precursors to torment him further.

Reyes smiles as she unlocks the cell door. "I'm going to grab him after I drop you off. We need to get you set up before he joins you."

Newt frowns. "Set up? And what exactly does that involve?"

"Nothing serious," Reyes says, and either her poker-face is amazing, or he’s overly suspicious for no reason.

Reyes walks him quietly to the lab. Newt keeps his head down. He knows the few people who pass them do a double take, but he’s not nearly ready to look up and see what their reaction is. Shock? Horror? Fury? Joy? ( _Haha… unlikely_ ).

When they get to Dr. Pitafi’s lab, Newt freezes in the doorway, staring at the new chair sitting in the center of the room, obviously built for him. Its construction is similar to the holding chair: perhaps more comfortable, with leather padding, but equipped with straps to restrain him at the wrists, chest, and ankles.

"This is pretty damn serious! Are you kidding me?" Newt yelps. He can feel the fear starting to creep up the back of his spine. Hermann must sense it as well, because Newt gets a questioning concern across the drift bond.

"Peace, Dr. Geiszler. I was asked to take precautions," Dr. Pitafi says, walking up to him. "You remember what happened the last time you came out of the drift? If Dr. Gottlieb cannot help you find a memory to fix, we want to have a back-up plan."

"I didn't hurt him before," Newt grumbles, folding his arms. "He showed me some breathing exercises. They’ve helped me keep control every other time I’ve lost it the last week. I can just do those!" He knows he sounds petulant, but _damn it_ , this feels like going right back to where he was before. Deranged, dangerous, unable to be trusted. Lacking agency in the whole matter.

Dr. Pitafi shakes her head. “It’s out of my hands. I understand your reservations, Dr. Geiszler, and I don’t agree that this is the best solution, but I was told that, after last time, your mental status is too precarious to take chances.”

“By _who_?” Newt snaps.

“By Nate,” Reyes says, holding up her hands when he turns his glare to her. “Wait, listen. I think he’s being cautionary. Your attacking Mr. Geiszler last time made it up the chain of command, and I think they’re already displeased by this whole experiment. He had to give them some sort of assurance he was keeping any dangers you posed to others in check.”

She’s right, and Newt hates that she’s right. _Fucking bureaucratic oversight_ , he thinks. _Overreacting, ass-covering politicians._

“If we fix another memory, then next, time, I promise, no restraints,” Dr. Pitafi says. “Ranger Lambert already gave me his word.”

"Fuck, _fine_ ," Newt grumbles, stalking past her and dropping into the chair. "It's like none of you have heard of PTSD or anything..."

He closes his eyes as Reyes tightens the straps, restricting his movement. He tries to breathe, feeling the panic rising in his chest, tries to ignore it, bury it, pretend he’s fine with this, really, it’s not so bad…

No, that’s a lie. It's not the same as the hivemind, but still, what would happen if he refused? He wouldn’t be allowed to drift with Hermann, the hivemind would remain in his head, and inevitably, someone would take an interest in exploring Newt’s brain in a way a lot less voluntary than what they’re doing now.

So, in a very real sense, he’s got no choice. No control. Again.

"Why is he _restrained_?!"

Newt had been so busy having his mini panic attack in the chair, he hadn’t realized someone had called Hermann down to the lab. Now he opens his eyes to see Hermann storming into the room, face writ with fury.

“Are you both out of your blasted minds?" Hermann shouts. He moves towards Newt. “Take those off of him, _now_!”

“He’s agreed to it, Hermann,” Dr. Pitafi replies, stepping into his path. “This isn’t your decision.”

“Do _not_ think for a moment, Hadiyya, that I will allow him to be _abused_ any further than he already has!” Hermann jabs a finger out at her. “This is unacceptable! Move, or I will-”

"Hermann! Stop, it's fine, okay?" Newt says, piping up from behind her. "Just, let's get this over with. _Please._ "

“Newton…?” Hermann responds by sending a feeling of worried concern across the drift bond, and Newt latches onto it, cocooning himself in its mental caress, its desire to comfort him, protect him.

Hermann is terrified for him, that’s obvious, and it’s so, so _endearing_ , but honestly, the longer Hermann spends raging, the longer it's going to take for them to just do this... and Newt needs to do this. He wants out of this chair, wants the hivemind out of his damn brain, and there's a memory they need to talk about, something he’s not ready to handle, but…

But he needs to _know_. Whether it’s real or not.

Newt sends back reassurance, in a look, a nod of the head, a feeling across the bond. Hermann looks pained, can obviously tell how false Newt’s show of ‘okayness’ with this whole charade is. But Newt keeps up the show.

Finally, Hermann sighs. “By your leave, Newton. Let us begin.”

Dr. Pitafi and Reyes set up the machinery while Hermann sits in a chair next to Newt's, watching him intently. Upon sitting down, Hermann clasped his hand and hasn’t let go. It’s even better than the drift bond, warm, soft, steady, a sensation Newt knows intimately now, that he’s certain can’t be faked by cold, jagged chaos of the hivemind.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" Hermann asks as they strap the headset onto him. His thumb has been stroking against Newt’s palm, but now it pauses, echoing the hesitation in his eyes.

Newt nods, tries to smile, fails at having the motivation to do so, and just shrugs. "Yeah. If it means breaking more of the hivemind's control, I'll deal with it.”

He stares down at his lap for a moment, then back to Hermann. “Look... can you promise me something, buddy?"

Hermann frowns. "What is it?"

"Remember… remember that I didn't know what would happen next, when you see this," Newt says, shivering as the cold metal slides over the top of his head. "Okay?"

Hermann squeezes his hand, and Newt swears he bends forward just a bit, a twitch, and lifts Newt’s hand up, as if he were going to lean down and… but no, he’s turning to lie back against the chair, and the stroke of his thumb against Newt’s palm resumes.

"Alright... I'll do that," Hermann replies.

"Ready, boys?" Dr. Pitafi asks, giving them both thumbs up. "I know you’ll find what you’re looking for, _inshallah_. I said Jules could watch this time, and I hope that's alright. I promise I won't write any rude words on your foreheads while you're out."

"Can't promise I won't," Reyes quips, winking at them. "It'll be washable marker, though."

Newt can't help but chuckle; even though he knows they're just trying to calm him down, it's appreciated. 

Dr. Pitafi rests a finger over the button. "And three, two, one..."

 

_we_

 

_we fall_

 

_we fall in_

_we fall into the blue_

 

_blue like the water trickling down your skin after a rain_

_blue like the river rushing you towards the waterfall in your eighth summer, screaming wildly as you lack vision over the edge_

_blue like the ocean crashing down on your head, crushing, pushing you into the earth, fall down, Newton, fall down, faLL DOWN_

_FALL THROUGH MY HEAD_  

 

_DOWN_

_DOWN_

_DOWN_

 

_until you reach the bottom_

_wait_

_he’s here_

_Where are we going?_

  _There's something you need to see._

**YOU WILL NOT YOU ARE NOTHING YOU ARE NOTHING**

_Fuck you guys. Follow me, Hermann._

"-could be on the precipice of the future, Hermann, and you want to walk away from the chance? Come on, dude!" Newt yells, slamming his fist on his desk. Random papers fly off the sides, scattering down and landing in pools of kaiju fluids on the floor of the lab, soaking through, ruined, but who cares, now that they’ve saved the world?

Newt has changed his clothes since the drift in Hong Kong, but his leather jacket is streaked with dried mud, and the various nicks and cuts along his face are still healing over. Across from him, Hermann is dressed down, long-sleeved shirt, jeans, a tired, weary expression, hand on his cane trembling with exhaustion that Newt sees but ignores, because if he can just win this argument, Hermann can go rest as much as he likes.

"Would you stop this?" Hermann asks, shaking his head, so tired of this conversation ( _didn't want to hear you, didn't want anything to change even though everything had_ ). "I am perfectly content continuing my research with the PPDC, and I have no desire to jump ship on the off-chance that we can be competitive in the private sector. I have not dedicated my entire life to the Jaeger program just to give it up now."

Newt grips his hands into his hair, pulling the locks, frustration writ across his face. "Stacker's dead, Hermann. Do you really think we're just going to be able to keep doing this? The PPDC is going to come in and change fucking everything! The Jaegers are a viable program to them now, so they're going to pump money in, but only if we run things the way _they want_. All my experimental freedom is gonna be crushed by a fucking bureaucracy. All your code implementation will be micromanaged by some scared-shitless politicians who care more about looking like they're doing something than actually doing it. Come on, Hermann, you can't be this fucking blind!"

Hermann scowls, jabbing a finger out, straight and pointed, like the line across their laboratory, like the once strict separation of their minds that has gotten muddled and fuzzy since the drift.

"And what makes you think the private sector will be any better?” Hermann asks. “You, of all people, _Mister Anti-Capitalist_ , answering to investors? Nothing you produce will belong to you or will be of any help to humanity unless Liwen Shao thinks it can make a profit.”

"Dude, I never said it was the perfect solution, but we’ve got to start somewhere! I know you don't want this one thing we did to be the apex of your achievement." Newt stalks in a circle, pulling at his hair ( _couldn't listen wouldn't listen you always had to be the reasonable one_ ).

“And what makes you think it will be?” Hermann asks in a sharp, angry tone, like he knows Newt is about to say something unnecessarily hurtful, _as usual_.

"Stacker was the only one who trusted in us, Herms,” Newt says, shaking his head. “He was an outlier in a sea of government yes-men. The next guy in charge will shove your stuffy, college professor ass in some lab and let you play with mathematical equations for the next thirty years until they can ship you off to a retirement home!"

Hermann stamps his cane into the floor. "And you think you're any better, Newton Geiszler? You're an insane, monster-obsessed, juvenile delinquent of a man. You take unnecessary risks to your well-being in the name of science, of which, I’d remind you, only _one_ has ever resulted in something of vital importance being discovered, and the only reason you haven't died yet is because someone with common sense and a lack of a _suicidal ideations_ has been holding your leash!”

"Fuck _you_ , dude!" Newt snatches a bit of kaiju liver lying on his desk and throws it at Hermann's head. Hermann ducks as it goes sailing, landing with a _splat_  on the floor behind him. "You think you're so good at holding my leash? Then you should be following me out the door that I’m dragging you, because I've picked up a trail that will actually take us somewhere!"

They both stand and stare at one another, seething, the air rippling with tension, like a storm before the first crack of lightning rips across the sky.

But then Hermann wipes a hand over his brow, hunched shoulders lowering, and shakes his head.

"I have followed you to _hell_ and back in the last week, Newton,” Hermann says, looking down, voice low, pained in a way Newt hadn’t noticed until the memory replays ( _why couldn’t I see how I was hurting you, maybe if I had, maybe if I had…_ ). “We achieved so much when we finally began working together. I… I assumed we could explore that harmonizing further, but I see now your ambitions far outweigh mine. I suppose it had to come to this eventually.”

He turns and mounts the steps.

"Why won’t you listen to me?" Newt asks. “I want to work with you, Hermann. But I don’t want us to be forgotten. I want our work to keep _mattering._ ”

Hermann glances back, meeting his frustrated gaze. “Your idea of what matters in this situation… differentiates from my own.”

"Where are you- Hermann Gottlieb, get your ass back here!" Newt shouts.

But Hermann is already out the door, gone down the hall.

In his fury, Newt kicks his chair over, stamping around the lab. Tubes are shattered, paper goes flying, kaiju parts are squished beneath his boots. Chalkboard erasers are thrown, machinery is kicked, and loud, angry, frustrated noises echo through the lab.

Newt ends the tantrum back in front of his desk, elbows on the top, breathing hard as he lets out a frustrated, pained noise.

He calms down after a minute, still bent over the desk, dropping his forehead to the top of it.

"Fuck, _fuck_ me," he mutters, running a hand through his hair roughly. "Can't even get the right words out."

After another minute, he stands up and snatches a piece of paper and a pencil from the scattered remains on his desk. He begins to write something, concentrating, slow drags of the pencil, letters going down one at a time, far more precise than his normal furious scribbling. It takes him several minutes, and he erases words, mutters to himself, runs his hand through his hair a few more times, and lets out a few extra curses.

When he's satisfied, he walks over to Hermann's desk and glances around, ascertaining its contents. There's a paperweight in the corner that Newt had gotten him on a trip to Switzlerland for a conference. Newt had stopped by the _Einsteinhaus_  for a visit and had brought back a glass paperweight with the equation _E=MC 2 _floating in crystalline white letters at the center of the bauble.

Now Newt folds the paper, Hermann's name written on the outside, and tucks it beneath the paperweight, leaving it on the center of the desk. Then he leaves the room.

Memory Newt and Memory Hermann are gone, but the real Hermann has been watching this scene play out, standing off to the side, or maybe floating above it, or maybe through his own eyes; it’s so hard to understand sometimes in someone else’s memory. He remembers though, feeling so tired, just wanting to lie down and sleep after the drift and the kaiju, and Newt wouldn't shut up about Shao. He’d snapped, said some things he’d regretted, but left knowing that tomorrow, yes, there would be tomorrow to apologize.

But this was the last time he was in the lab. He never came back.

"I never saw this," Hermann says, looking around, but Newt isn't there. "Newt, what did you write?"

No answer.

Pain in his head, purples and blacks, it's all getting very _tiresome_. The scene shifts, and the paper disappears from underneath the paperweight. Memory Newt walks back into the lab, and it's much later, perhaps the next day. Memory Newt sees the note is gone, freezes, and then lets out a sharp breath. Then he leaves again. The scene speeds up. Memory Newt entering the lab again, looking around for Memory Hermann. He isn't there, and Memory Newt's expression falls farther each time, over and over, until one day Memory Hermann's things are gone, except for the paperweight sitting on the center of the desk.

Memory Newt smashes the thing against a wall and storms out.

"This isn't what happened," Hermann says, walking over to the pieces of the paperweight. He gathers up the three large chunks, cradling them between his fingers. He remembers Newt leaving this on his desk, making some off-hand comment about how it reminded him of Hermann. He remembers how casual Newt had tried to sound, how red-faced he had gotten when Hermann had thanked him profusely. But Hermann been truly touched by the gift. It was the first time a colleague had given him something out of the blue, just because they’d wanted to, and Hermann’s opinion of Newt had slightly improved because of the gesture.

Hermann continues. "They moved me before I could come back here, Newt. I never saw the note. I don't know what you wrote. I never unpacked all the boxes from the old lab, Newt. The note… it's probably still sitting in one in my new lab."

The world flashes white and blue. Time rewinds, then begins to play, this time the true memory.

Newt enters the lab again and again, but each time, the note remains underneath the paperweight. As before, he expression grows more and more despondent each time. Sometimes he looks like he's going to take the note, lifts the paperweight, then puts it back down. Leaves, comes back to the same scene. Over and over, until Hermann's things disappear. When Newt sees it all gone, he stands frozen for a moment, before turning and striding out.

"A week."

Hermann spins around to see Newt sitting cross-legged on the ground behind him. The paperweight is tumbling through his fingers, no longer cracked in Hermann's.

“What?” Hermann asks.

Newt motions with his free hand to the scene playing out. "I waited a week to see if you'd found it, but then you were gone. I thought about going to find you during that whole week, maybe hand deliver it, but then I'd have to actually make a damn effort instead of pretending you'd just stumble over it one day."

"I was ill," Hermann says, watching Newt stare at the bauble in his hands. "You don't remember? No one ever told you? I thought you were as well, until they moved me to the new facility and told me you'd left for Shao."

Newt lets out a strained laugh. "I mean, now it makes sense, but you'd never avoided the lab before. I thought you were avoiding me."

"What did you write, Newt?" Hermann asks.

Newt glances up. Hermann can sense his fear, thick waves coming off him.

“Why don't you see for yourself?" Newt says.

Hermann turns and sees the scene rewound, frozen. His desk is now set as it was before, the paper tucked under the paperweight.

Hermann walks over and rests his cane against the side, sliding onto the stool. He lifts the paperweight and sets it aside. His name is written across the outside of the note, and Hermann hesitates, because what could it say, what could make Newt this afraid to show him it?

Newt's handwriting is much more legible than normal, and Hermann thinks he must've been so careful, must've wanted to make sure Hermann could understand what he was saying. He feels as if a great mystery is about to be solved, a great stone rolled away from the entrance of the tomb, daylight shining through as he steps over the precipice.

Hermann picks up the paper, unfolds it, and begins to read.

_Hermann,_

_I'm sorry, I was an ass. You know me, that's kind of my thing. Sometimes I'm amazed you continue to put up with me. I push, and I push, but you're still there. You drifted with a fucking kaiju brain for me. That's insane! And, yeah, I know it was for me, not just with me. There’s a really important difference and I don’t know how to feel about it._

_I don't know anybody else who would do that. You're the only one, I think. You wouldn’t let me take the risk by myself, even though it was my predictive model, even though you absolutely thought I was about to get us both killed. That scares the shit out of me, you know?_

_I know I scared you the first time I drifted. I remember you ripping the Pons off my head, and your expression, that level of terror… well, I never want to see you so scared like that, ever again. So, I'm sorry about that too. Although, I guess, not completely, since it helped us, you know, save the world. I think we’d both agree that the world is worth some risks, especially with each other being in it._

_I was trying to say things earlier and they came out wrong, because they always do. I’m probably going to fuck this up too, so, you know, high expectations!_

_See? That’s what I mean. I've spent years talking around my feelings instead of about them. I always need to leave an out, a defense, something where if what I'm saying isn't welcome, I can just say it's a joke, or I don't really mean it. Even now, I should probably be saying this stuff to your face, but I'm too much of a coward. So, I guess I'll write it before I lose the nerve._

_Here's the honest, no bullshit, one hundred percent real Newton. I would rather relive every single moment of pain, terror, and insignificance I felt in that first drift, over and over again, until the universe contracts into nothingness, I would rather all that than to not be your partner anymore. That's how much it would hurt to not see you every day, to not have what we’ve created here._

_You make me feel like the most important person in the damn universe. If we had died drifting with that kaiju, at least I'd have been with you, connected right to that beautiful brain of yours at the end._

_Hermann, I think I might be in love with you._

_I'm sorry if that scares you. I've done that a lot recently. I'll try to do it less in the future. No matter if you feel the same or not, please let me keep being your partner. I don't want anyone else holding my leash but you._

_-Newton_

" _Newton_ …" Hermann gasps, hands shaking as he grips the paper. "Bloody _Christ_ , Newton! If, if you had told me this..."

He turns back, but Newt is gone, and the memory begins to fade around him, until only the blackness remains.

Hermann feels his consciousness crawling back up from the drift, and he doesn't fight it. He lets himself be carried back on the flow, the rushing river of their conjoined minds, carrying him up, up, up, back to reality, where he and Newt can talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so scared for you all to read this chapter, I really hope it's liked. It's mega long but it had to be. Newt's note is probably the most favorite thing I've written into this whole fic. This chapter was so hard to get right, and I need to give an especially loud shout out to dont_be_hasty for giving me fantastic feedback. Next chapter will hopefully be up on Tuesday.
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: Dubiously consensual restraint, PTSD mentions and reactions


	18. Bring You Home: Chapter 18

The weird thing about the drift is that time slows to a hyperreality when you’re fixating on memories. Seconds pass outside, while lifetimes may pass inside the drift, depending on how deep into a memory you are, how long it is. And as the one producing the memory, Newt has a bit more control of chasing it.

So, while Hermann rushes to the surface, Newt lags behind, wanting the quiet, the moment alone, floating in the blue and white.

The hivemind is a whisper, an itch in the back of his mind, _he will reject you and you will be all alone_.

It's so much quieter now. In the void, the hivemind overwhelmed every moment of thought, piercing and twisting and screaming and buzzing and clawing and _unmaking._ One of the ways it kept him unable to recall his true self.

But the hivemind’s power is waning, and Newt doesn't believe their lies anymore. Hasn't, really, since that first time Hermann reached out through the pain and the darkness, and fixed part of Newt’s broken self, mended that first bit of his shattered mind, like an artful practitioner of _kintsugi_ , beginning a long, arduous process of repair.

Both Newt and Hermann are broken, shattered people, who can’t go back to what they once were: thirty-five and flush with joy at the expectation of survival, arms wrapped around one another, a moment in time, an opportunity, now lost.

Newt should’ve kissed him, should’ve told him. Ten years of regret, of not knowing, of hope feared gone. Hope that might’ve been there all along.

He still can’t be sure. To Newt, rejection has always been common, and love so hard to come by. It's easier to stay in the drift for a few more moments, that space between waking and dreaming, because when he leaves, he will have to face reality.

And the reality is, that Hermann’s true feelings are a hypothetical he has never quite solved.

His hold on the hyperreality only lasts so long. When he opens his eyes. Reyes and Dr. Pitafi are on either side of him, watching him return to consciousness.

"Finally," Dr. Pitafi says, sighing. "We were getting worried."

"Sorry," Newt mumbles, clearing his throat. "Got a little stuck in dreamland. Is Hermann awake?"

He hears Hermann's voice next to him, gravely, like he’s coming out of a long slumber, but Newt doesn't dare look over.

"Could you give us a few moments, ladies?" Hermann asks. "I'd like to talk to Newton in private."

Reyes and Dr. Pitafi glance at each other, both having a conversation with non-verbals, so practiced that Newt swears they must’ve developed a friendship at some point.

After a few seconds, they both turn back to Newt.

"Sure, I suppose that's okay," Dr. Pitafi says. "Your vitals are much better than the last time you came out of the drift, Dr. Geiszler. I'm assuming another memory was fixed?"

"Yeah," Newt says, nodding. "The hivemind is a lot quieter up in the ol' cerebellum. I think I probably won't choke anyone out this time."

He keeps his gaze ahead, practicing those deep breaths on the sly. He wants to reach out across the drift bond, but he’s terrified of what Hermann will send back, or even worse, refuse to send at all.

"Let us know when you're ready to debrief," Reyes says. Then she and Dr. Pitafi leave the room.

Newt hears the other chair creak, and Hermann comes into view. His expression is inscrutable, body far too relaxed for the gravity of what’s between them, what’s occurred.

He reaches out, and Newt tenses, but Hermann only starts unbuckling the restraints holding Newt down, taking care to move slowly, gentle in the way he loosens the straps and guides them off Newt’s wrists. Newt draws one hand into his lap, then the other, sighing softly when Hermann releases the strap around his chest, also releasing the tension in Newt’s body that he hadn’t realized he was holding in.

Hermann leans down and loosens the straps around Newt's ankles, continual care in his motions, slow and soothing, like he’s calming a frightened pet, or woodland creature, and Newt wouldn’t say he’s feeling skittish, but _boy is he feeling skittish_.

Hermann wobbles a bit when he stands. Newt quickly grabs his arm to steady him.

“Okay?” Newt asks.

“Yes,” Hermann says, resting his hand over Newt’s on his arm. "I'm sorry, it just, it felt highly inappropriate for me to continue when you were not entirely in control of your bodily movements."

His eyes trace over Newt's face, in a way that's so intimately _knowing_ it's painful, two decades of patterns and predictive models and adaptation. Whatever the drift bond may give them, Newt will always prefer Hermann turning his gaze on Newt, reading all his flaws and insecurities, and yet not looking away.

"Cool… so I'm all free now." Newt shifts in the chair, trying to breathe. "So, we should, um, we should talk."

Hermann smiles, and Newt almost melts into the floor, because it’s _fond_ , and that’s Newt’s favorite smile; it says, _you’re kind of an idiot but I think I like you for it, somehow_.

“I’m far past words, and you already talked,” Hermann says. “Ten years ago. Quite a lot. I’d almost forgotten your attentionally deficient writing style and tangential use of language in our past correspondence.”

“Herms, Hermann…” Newt says, unable to sit still, until Hermann leans forward and grips his forearms, a steadying weight against his anxiety. “You don’t, I mean, if you don’t feel… you don’t have to- you aren’t _required_ to-”

Hermann kisses him. Gently, but with a certitude that silences Newt’s doubts.

“I love you, Newton,” Hermann murmurs, his lips tickling Newt’s own with those words as they come apart, his eyes half-closed, expression soft. “I love you dearly, and wholly, and being away from you so long was like living half a life. So, if it’s quite alright, I'd like to spend every moment of the rest of my life making up for the time we lost."

Newt can’t speak, because if he speaks, he’ll ruin the perfection of this moment, and he wants to burn it into his mind, blot out everything the hivemind has touched with it, until only this remains. He can feel his fingers digging into the leather of the chair, hears the scratchy stutter of his own breath, tempers down the swell of respondent love that threatens to overwhelm him and leave him weeping joyful tears into Hermann’s sweater.

“Oh, blast it,” Hermann says, reaching out to cup Newt’s cheek. “I’ve kissed you again without asking. Though I suppose things have changed a bit. Still, may I…?”

"Hermann, f-fuck..." Newt gasps out, lifting his free hand to wrap around the back of Hermann's neck. "Come _here_ , you sanctimonious, glorious _ass_."

Newt drags him down and their lips meet again, Hermann's hands bunching into the sleeves of Newt's shirt. They’re both shaking as Hermann drapes himself against Newt, the same comingling sense of relief and joy flowing through the drift bond in a harmonious perfection.

Hermann is warm and solid and real. He tastes like cinnamon toothpaste and earl grey tea. He smells like the air of a summer sunrise.

He feels like _home._

Newt revels in it all, drags him down farther, kissing him again, more insistently, daring his tongue to dart out and tap against Hermann's lower lip. A thrill goes up Newt's spine when Hermann makes a sound, oh, _what_ a sound, both delighted and brokered with desperate, palpable _need._ Need for this, for Newt, for what they’ve needed from each other for two decades but are only now getting around to asking for.

 _I'm doing that, holy shit, that's because of me_ , Newt thinks as Hermann's hands find his hair, stroking through the locks, and Newt lets out a heady gasp, arching up against the touch. He can’t help the crack of lust he sends across to Hermann, and the _want_ he’s sent back nearly bends him in two.

Fire, Hermann's fingers drag trails of fire across his skin. Newt greedily drinks in more of his taste, tongue finally slipping its way between Hermann's teeth, wanting more, so much more, wanting everything he's missed out on, everything the Precursors took away.

They finally break apart when Newt is forced to find air, and Hermann's eyes are deep, wide pools, face a ruddy red and hair sticking up at all angles. He's gasping and shaking above Newt, face carved in a ferocious _desire_ that's so intense, Newt feels his cock twitch in anticipation of seeing Hermann like that in other situations.

"Apologies," Hermann says, panting, clenching his eyes shut. “I have wanted this for… _so_ long. Oxygen began to seem optional.”

"What- what the fuck are you apologizing for?" Newt says through his own stuttered gasps. "That was fucking _hot_ , dude!"

"Well, well good." Hermann rests his forehead against Newt's, the edges of his mouth curling up in a soft smirk. “Your opinion about the matter is of chief importance to me.”

Newt smiles. "You’re, uh, you're not mad that I ran away and totally fucked everything up with us?"

"Oh, I'm absolutely furious." Hermann bumps his forehead gently against Newt's own. "But I can think of a few ways to exact some punishment from you that you'd likely find just as agreeable."

Newt grins. “Are you seriously suggesting some sort of domination and submission thing right now? Like, dude, clearly our past relationship patterns lead to the conclusion that I will take the dominant role in any sexual activities.”

“Really?” Hermann chuckles. “I suppose we’ll have to conduct some experiments to find out. Best get started then, yes?”

Hermann leans in to give him another kiss, slower, more earnest. Newt closes his eyes, lets Hermann lead for a while, until the light touches and soft kisses lead to hungrier, greedier ones. Hermann’s hands find the edge of Newt’s shirt, slide their way beneath, and Newt gasps loudly as Hermann’s palms press flat to his stomach, two large patches of heat that flare a different sort of heat just below them. Across the drift, Hermann’s desire is a throbbing drumbeat of _want want want_ and Newt’s cock is already painfully hard-

He breaks off the kiss when a sharp, shooting pain jolts through the front of his skull, the angry buzzing of a screaming mass of minds who still hold some power and intend to make his life as difficult as they still can. Newt sinks away from Hermann, gripping the handles of the chair, taking deep, gulping breaths, forcing himself to count. He can feel his fingers twitching, burning to leap up around the throat a scant few inches away, and he digs them into the leather so hard he’s afraid he’ll split it open.

"Fuck, are you fucking _kidding me_?" he groans.

"What's wrong? Still the hivemind?" Hermann asks. His hand stayed gripped to Newt’s shoulder as he drew away, and now he runs it through Newt’s hair in a gesture of comfort.

"Yeah..." Newt sighs and arches up into Hermann's touch. "They're still pissed, and not entirely powerless. I think I should, you know, probably avoid doing anything right now that makes me lose control."

Hermann draws his hand away, and Newt wants to follow it, wants to catch the digits between his teeth and lick them, taste them. He wants to pull Hermann back onto his lap and use the sturdiness of this chair for a better purpose. This is the worst, absolutely one hundred percent _worst_ scenario possible. He finally knows, he finally can be sure that Hermann loves him, needs him, wants him… he but can’t have him. Not in the way he wants. Not in the way _Newt_ wants.

"I'll get Dr. Pitafi," Hermann says, pecking him on the forehead, lips staying there a moment longer than anticipated. "Yes, you should have a once over, run another DEEG to see how the hivemind wavelength has been affected. It will give me time to talk to Lambert about your accommodations."

Newt blinks. "Accommodations?"

"I'd say the prison cell is now unnecessary, wouldn't you agree? But he might take some convincing." Hermann’s eyebrows go up, mouth tucked into a wry smile, like they’re sharing a little joke.

"Yeah, yeah, you go and convince him then," Newt says. He decides another kiss is worth the risk, and leans up to catch Hermann’s lips, holding them in stillness for a moment.

When Newt pulls back, he says, "God, I could do this for hours."

"I look forward to letting you try," Hermann replies, and the earnestness of that yearning to reconnect already is clear in his eyes. "I shall return shortly."

Hermann walks out with a stride as close to skipping as Newt’s ever seen him perform. When he’s left, Newt sinks back into the chair, a wide, dreamy smile plastered over his face.

 _He loves me,_  Newt thinks.  _I sound like a fucking fifteen-year-old girl, but I don't give a shit, because Hermann Gottlieb loves me. You hear that, you Precursor fucks? You were wrong. You always have been. Hermann. Gottlieb. LOVES. ME._

Newt winces as another jolt of pain shoots through his head, the hivemind none too happy with his taunting, but still. It is _so_ worth it.

Dr. Pitafi and Reyes step back into the room. One look at his expression, the state of his hair, and his well-wrecked mouth, and they burst into laughter.

"Oh, fuck you guys,” Newt says, trying to scowl, but he’s too elated, riding too high, and his mouth refuses to turn downwards.

“Sorry, Dr. Geiszler! You look like you got attacked by a very amorous kaiju.” Reyes lets out a giggle-snort. “ _Ay dios mio,_ I’ve never seen Dr. Gottlieb that disheveled.”

"Really, the nerve of that man to send us out of the room so he could make out with you, as if he couldn’t wait a few minutes." Dr. Pitafi’s words are scolding, but there’s an amused expression on her face. "Now your vitals will be compromised, hormones nothing but adrenaline and oxytocin. Useable data completely lost."

"Yeah, well, I’m loathe to admit this, but some things are more important than collecting useable data." Newt folds his arms and closes his eyes. “Some aspirin would be great right now.”

Dr. Pitafi is correct about his vitals being all whacked out, unmeasurable when tainted by newly discovered independent variables like _Hermann’s mouth_ and _Hermann’s hands_ and _Hermann’s love_. Newt asks her to save the data anyway. He’ll use it to conduct his own research, an exciting future avenue of study with his partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS OH MY GOD I AM SO HAPPY WE'RE HERE I'VE BEEN WAITING TO SHOW YOU THIS CHAPTER FOR SO LONG AND I REALLY HOPE YOU LOVE IT AS MUCH AS I DO.
> 
> So, the next chapter is long, and it might take a little longer than normal to post, but I promise, it's gonna be SO worth the wait. Hopefully it'll be out this weekend, but I'm not giving any hard and fast dates.
> 
> ATTENTION: I need some assistance! I AM REALLY DESPERATE FOR THE FOLLOWING: Urdu speakers and anyone with knowledge of British-Pakistani Muslim culture. Like, I will write you your own short vignette (500-1000 words, prompt of your choosing within reason) as a thanks for your help (which, reminds me, to anyone else who's helped me with this fic, that offer is also up for you, just drop me an ask in my tumblr inbox :D) If you don't fit those requirements but know someone who does, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE send them to me. They don't even have to be a part of PR fandom, because the knowledge I'm thinking I need is not fandom specific.
> 
> THANK YOU GUYS FOR BEING AMAZING! SEE YOU NEXT LEVEL!


	19. Bring You Home: Chapter 19 (Part 1 Finale)

Hermann spends a good forty-five minutes arguing with Lambert before they reach an agreement.

“He stays out of the labs,” Lambert says. His expression is an attempt at unaffected authority, but Hermann can read him like a particularly worn, spine-cracked novel, in that his lack of a sound structural design would cause him to crumble at the slightest stiff breeze. “No access to any new research. That includes what you are working on, and Ms. Shao's developing data on the Anteverse opening.”

“Fine,” Hermann grumbles. “What else?”

Lambert’s eyes draw inwards, finding the mental checklist he’s obviously been making in preparation for this moment, and checking off a box.

“Someone is to accompany him around the base at all times,” Lambert continues. “They're going to be held responsible for anything he does. We'll give him an ankle bracelet to make sure he doesn't wander off too far from whoever holds the sensor. He's to be confined to his room if no one can take charge of him. That means _locked in_ , Dr. Gottlieb. You’ll be given a key.”

Hermann scowls. “This is all completely unnecessary!”

Lambert tilts his head. “Is the hivemind still affecting him?”

“Yes, but- but this is still completely unnecessary!”

Hermann has no good answer to that point. And listen to him, how very _Geiszlerian_ to lack a thorough and convincing comeback. Hermann wonders if he’s going to start preferring skinny ties, coffee, and peppering his conversations with _dudes_ and _awesomes_ in the future.

Horrifying, that would be _horrifying_.

Lambert sighs, drawing a hand down his face. Hermann thinks he’s got no right to seem _that_ harried. “That's not the point, Dr. Gottlieb. The council is skittish about him right now. If they believe he could be any sort of threat, they'll remove him from our custody and into theirs.”

“Over my damned dead body,” Hermann says, gripping his cane a bit tighter. “They'll have to go through me.”

“Which is why I'm putting you in charge of him,” Lambert says. “You'll only have yourself to blame if something happens.”

“Blast it, Lambert, I'll be in the lab for hours this week. I have delicate experiments to work on.” Experiments that he has Jake and Lambert to thank for requisitioning of him, so really, it’s entirely their fault for taking up so much of his time. “I'm not just going to lock him in a bunk with food and water like, like he's a neglected family pet!”

“Why not have his uncle watch him while you work, then? I'm sure they'd like to catch up more.” Lambert almost looks sympathetic, which feels disingenuous considering what he's telling Hermann to do. “Just keep working on getting the hivemind out of his head. You should be celebrating how much you've achieved, not how far you still have to go.”

Hermann acquiesces to the plan, because he can't see any other way of getting Lambert to agree to let Newt wander more freely. He doesn’t like these scenarios that continue to restrict Newt’s physical agency so much. He knows, he _knows_ that, realistically, they’re lucky to even be given the freedoms they are now, considering how many people believe Newt guilty of the Precursor’s crimes. Still… Hermann can’t help but feel that Newt’s agency has simply shifted, from control by the Precursors, to control by the PPDC.

When he returns to Dr. Pitafi's lab, she's arguing with a tall, generic-looking white man in the black uniform of base security. Hadiyya is standing between the guard and Newt, arms folded and posture protective, a practiced stance. _I don’t remember her having children_ , Hermann thinks. _Perhaps a younger sibling?_

“-my patient,” Hadiyya is saying, “and I have no idea who gave you orders about _tracking devices_ , but I'm not letting you near him without seeing a signed order- Oh, Dr. Gottlieb.”

“Hermann?” Newt says, popping his head out from around Hadiyya, face as constricted in uncertainty as Hermann’s ever seen. “Why is this guy talking about ankle bracelets and who plans on retaining custody of me?”

Hermann sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “Lambert moves fast.”

He explains his conversation with Lambert to Newt and Hadiyya, neither of whom look very pleased with the agreement. Hermann knows it's not the best scenario, but what was he supposed to do, let them keep Newt locked in a cell?

And what if the PPDC does try to snatch Newt out from under them? Hermann trusts Hadiyya's experimental ethics, but he's seen horrifying abuses before, and the idea of Newt strapped to some table while nameless, faceless individuals stab and cut him wide open... god's it's utterly _ghastly_. At least if Newt is with someone all the time that Hermann trusts, they'll have a warning.

“This is not ideal, I know,” Hermann says. “But I believe that Lambert might genuinely be looking out for you.”

“He’s got a fucked-up way of showing it,” Newt mutters. “Restraints and ankle bracelets make me feel _so_ protected.”

Hermann rests his hand on top of Newt's. “Do you trust me?”

“Herms… fuck, of course I do, you're not the one I'm suspicious of here.” Newt sighs and nods to the security guard. “Fine, before I change my mind.”

The ankle bracelet is a small, thin band with a green dot light that signals it has power. Newt glares at it when it's been locked on him, squirming in his seat, while the guard hands Hermann the accompanying bracelet that the person who has custody of Newt is to wear.

“If the prisoner goes more than thirty feet out of range of the bracelet, an alarm will sound on both, and the monitoring station will be notified,” the guard says.

“He's not a prisoner,” Hermann grumbles, clasping the bracelet around his own wrist. It’s leather, and the monitoring unit makes it look like an ordinary watch. “Or if he is, so am I, having to stay in thirty feet of him all the time.”

Newt lets out an indignant noise.

Hermann smiles at him. “I'm being humorous, _mein Schatz_. Do settle down.”

“Mein Schatz...? Oh. Oh, _that's_ what that meant,” Newt says, finally understanding the context of the German and grinning back at Hermann, his cheeks flushing to a lovely shade of rose. “Yeah, I, uh, I like that.”

The guard hands Hermann a key for Newt's bunk, salutes and then walks briskly out of the room.

Hadiyya sighs from her desk. “All of this valuable data and you both had to cock it up with a makeout sesh. So much for science.”

“You'll get over it, Diys. Believe me, I screw things up all the time,” Newt says.

“Diys?” Hermann says, frowning.

Newt shrugs. “Trying out nicknames. She did kinda save my bacon, and all that.”

Hermann gapes at him. “ _She_ saved it?”

“Well, I mean, you did some important stuff too.”

“ _Newton_.”

Newt grins. “Oh, what, you get to tease me, and I don’t get to do the same?”

Hadiyya is chuckling in the corner. “ _Allah_ , you are both ridiculous. The nickname is fine, if you were wondering, Newt.”

“Sweet, Diys.” Newt hops out of the chair, then grabs one of the arms as he sways, none too steady on his feet. “Shit, god damn, I forgot how much the drift takes out of me.”

“Let's get you to bed,” Hermann says, stepping up next to him, holding a hand out. He frowns when Newt gives him a wide-eyed, falsely innocent grin. “No, Newton, I didn't mean it like _that_.”

“Then you’ve gotta pick your words better, dude,” Newt says, winking.

“Get out of my lab, before you both become indecent,” Hadiyya calls, still sifting through her data, trying to find something usable.

~

The hallway is quiet as they stroll down it, Hermann’s hand is clasped in Newt’s. Their upper arms press together, and Newt tips his head sideways, cheek brushing Hermann’s shoulder. He lets out a sigh, then a soft laugh, breathing deep. His happiness bubbles over through the drift bond, and Hermann can’t help but sink into it, letting out a laugh of equal volume and tone.

In an infinite number of universes, Newt and Hermann never met, never worked side by side, never developed feelings for each other, never saved the world, never spent ten years apart, abandoned or possessed, never found a way to bring Newt back, never realized how much they needed one another, never said it aloud.

But in this one, they did.

Hermann has never been the biggest fan of Leibniz’ theodicic argumentation, too many unverifiable variables taken for truths. But right now, with Newt finally at his side once more, Hermann allows for the theory that this is, in fact, the best of all possible worlds.

The elevator ride to the sleeping quarters is mercifully absent of anyone else in the lift. Newt takes the opportunity to press Hermann against a wall and kiss him a bit more, muss his hair and clothes a bit more. This new physicality is a two-decade long dam bursting open, the relief of release kicking Hermann’s sensitivity to touch, already abnormally high, into even higher gear. Invariably, it leaves him red-faced, gasping for air, and achingly aroused.

“That is not fair,” Hermann grouses hoarsely as Newt steps back and the doors glide open. “I am a respected professional on this base, and you are going to leave my reputation in tatters.”

“I'd like to leave a lot of things in tatters, Hermann. But mostly your clothes on the floor.” Newt says.

“By _jove,_ ” Hermann says, pressing his hair back into place and following Newt out of the elevator. “Later, perhaps.”

The bunk that Newt has been assigned is just down the hall from Hermann's. It is currently empty of anything personal, just a bed, dresser, and small desk. The space is sparse, tidy, so entirely un-Newtonian. It seems _wrong_ somehow, but there’s nothing to be done.

“They’ve finally released your personal effects, and Lambert is having your things shipped from your apartment, I believe,” Hermann says, watching him walk into the space and look around. “They'll probably refuse you anything internet connected, or research related, but clothes, toiletries, jewelry, and anything else should be available to you.”

“Yeah, great...” Newt says, folding his arms as he turns back to Hermann. “It's- yeah. Cool.”

“I know it’s not ideal,” Hermann says, kindly. “But it will feel more like your space once your things are here, won’t it?”

“That's not-” Newt sighs. “Never mind.”

“No, tell me.”

“I was kind of hoping... maybe that I could room with you?”

“Oh?” Hermann blinks, entirely thrown off. “Well, I, I didn't want to presume. Just because we've expressed feelings for one another. I know you enjoy your privacy. And my quarters are not much larger than these. We’d be in each other’s space, constantly.”

“Dude. You just described our entire past working relationship.” Newt grins, taking a step closer to him, leaning in. “Besides, I want you to be all up in my space, any time you want. I’m looking forward to it.”

Hermann matches his conspiratorial leaning, dipping down to steal a quick kiss. Newt makes a pleased noise, a magical, fascinating sound that Hermann will have to find ways of drawing out of him later.

“Mmm….” Hermann says, straightening up. “You've become a bloody romantic.”

Newt laughs. “Takes one to know one, _mein Schatz_.”

They return to Hermann's room instead. Newt walks through the space, eyes darting about, taking in information, observing and analyzing. After all his years of service, Hermann has been upgraded to a queen-sized bed and an ensuite bathroom. He still enjoys the feel of paper under his fingers, so several well-read texts are neatly ordered atop the shelf hanging over his desk. On one wall is a simulation of a fish tank, a flat, blue screen showing a variety of tropical marine life swimming peacefully amongst one another. There’s an unseasonable parka hanging off the closet door, this one a dusky navy blue, because Hermann still gets overly cold, and any sort of chill makes the bones in his hip ache.

“There's actual goddamn _messes_  in here, Hermann,” Newt says, pointing to the trash can where a few bits of refuse have fallen out, and the bedsheets, which remain crumpled from the night before. “What in the hell?”

“You've grown on me a tad,” Hermann says, resting his cane against the wall and sitting on the edge of the bed. He begins to remove his shoes, eyes still on Newt as he picks over the knick knacks on top of Hermann's dresser. Newt’s hand freezes over the framed picture of himself and Hermann that someone had snapped right after the Triple Event. Newt’s arm is looped over his shoulder, Hermann looking entirely too pleased about that to be platonically explained away.

There’s another copy of the photo that Hermann kept on his temporary workstation in Sydney. He takes is anywhere he finds himself staying for long stretches, because Hermann is utterly daft for the man, and the reminder of that moment has kept him going for ten years.

Hermann continues. “I'd say I've done the same to you. I saw pictures of your apartment, no kaiju parts or tacky Japanese animation posters in sight.”

“Oh, the anime posters are coming back, big time. A lot of that forced orderliness was the Precursors. You show an alien hivemind race an episode of _Devilman Crybaby_ just  _one_ time and suddenly your entire collection is being dumped in the trash because it's 'useless human obscenity.'” Newt snorts.

“Fantastic,” Hermann says, dryly. “Please refrain from hanging anything in here that would be mortifying to show another human being.”

Newt picks up the photograph. “I remember this moment, but I’ve never seen how you looked from this angle. Fuck… maybe if I had, I would’ve realized-” He looks back at Hermann and almost drops the photo. “What the hell are you doing?”

Hermann has removed his shoes, but also his socks, button-down, and slacks, leaving only a plain white t-shirt and polka-dotted blue boxers.

“I was presuming to get some actual rest, Newton,” he says, sliding back onto the mattress. “You can putter about, or you can join me.”

“Nope, puttering done!” Newt drops onto the edge of the bed, looking Hermann up and down. “I've just never seen you like this.”

Hermann snorts. “Obviously. You've never been in my room while I was sleeping. Or dressing. Or undressing.”

“Why did I think you slept in sweaters and long socks? That's stupid.” Newt grins. “I'm kind of an idiot sometimes.”

“A bit of one,” Hermann says, smiling at him. “But I find it endearing sometimes.”

“Only sometimes? Damn, guess I need to work on increasing the charm of my ‘adorable idiot genius’ persona,” Newt replies. He slips his thumbs underneath the waistband of his sweatpants, but seems to hesitate, glancing up at Hermann.

“You don't have to do the same if you're not comfortable yet,” Hermann says.

“That’s not the issue, Herms. Ya see, usually… I sleep in the nude.” Newt bunches the sweats between his hands, twisting them back and forth. “But I assume you’d object to that.”

 “Ah, yes. Perhaps not at this pont.” Hermann flushes. He isn’t a prude, in fact, it’s quite the opposite. Seeing Newt fully undressed… it would cause problems. A shiver goes down Hermann’s spine. _Oh, I would have some trouble with that, indeed._

“Okay, cool, so the boxers stay on.” Newt shimmies out of the sweats, revealing plain, grey underwear underneath. Hermann imagines his personal underwear collection is a lot more flagrant and flamboyant.

Then Newt yanks the t-shirt up over his head.

Newt's tattoos are on display, gorgeous colors and designs twisting into one another. Dozens of intricate, interconnected parts, tiny kaijus surrounded by bright red and blue scales, jaegers flying across his stomach, trailing swirling sparks. Hermann has only seen the arms before, has only heard some of these described, but they're so well incorporated into the whole thing that he must have been going to the same person all these years, building slowly, taking time before he added new bits.

“You're a bloody masterpiece, Newt,” Hermann says, reaching out and taking his hand, tugging him up to the headboard. “They're amazing.”

“Nice to finally hear you say it,” Newt says, leaning in and kissing him. Hermann presses into the kiss, then wraps his arms around Newt's waist and tugs him down to lay on the mattress, Newt's back to Hermann's front. Newt makes a satisfied noise and lies still in his arms.

Newt fits into the curve of his body like a well-designed puzzle piece, warm as a roaring fire, chasing away the cool of the filtered Shatterdome air conditioning. Hermann presses his face into Newt’s shoulder, breathing in. Newt smells different than Hermann remembers, months of confinement taking away the undertones of coffee and vanilla body wash that would drift across the lab whenever he passed by. But his natural scent remains, a deep, earthy musk that can’t be erased.

It floods Hermann’s nose, floods him with a decade of memories, of years of working side by side, watching everyone else ship off, until it was just them, forgotten in the bowels of the Shatterdome, retreading the same theoretical arguments with a kind of familiar exasperation that comes from wholly understanding your partner’s beliefs and yet being unable to let it go unless one of you is proven correct. Memories of late nights waiting on experiments and data processing, Newt curled up on their shared couch, normally pinched expression smoothed out by the necessity of sleep, and Hermann finding himself in want of a blanket to spread over the other man, and the looming terror in the pit of his stomach as his confusion over that desire coalesces into understanding.

Memories of momentary touches, accidental brushes, all the times he could have said something, could have made his feelings clear. He’s been lying to himself for weeks, telling himself that he first knew he loved Newt after the Triple Event. Giving himself that excuse, that Newt had gone away so quickly, and how could Hermann have acted on his feelings? But it isn’t true. He’s loved this man for far longer than that.

No more lies then. No more need for them.

Hermann could stay like this for ages, holding tight to Newt, _his_  Newt. The culmination of so much pain, heartache, desperate struggle, and finally here they are, together again, this time aware of their real feelings for one another.

It's absolutely _perfect_.

When Hermann lifts his head, he notices a design on the back of Newt's shoulder. Two white stars dotted with red are next to each other, silvery lines jutting out from their top and respective left and right points, bulbing up and out, then twisting back in to connect to a curled blue kaiju below, its tail jutting out and ending at a point. The whole effect looks like a small heart, the stars creating its middle, the kaiju tail its lower point.

“What is this?” Hermann asks, tracing the design with a finger. He feels Newt shiver beneath his touch, likes how he responds, and keeps doing it.

“Representation,” Newt mutters, shifting and pressing back harder against Hermann. “When we drifted with Otachi's baby. I'd been designing it in my head the whole flight back from Hong Kong. Got it done that week, thought I'd show it to you if... well...”

“My god, Newton,” Hermann says, pressing his lips against the design. Newt makes a pleased noise, a sound that Hermann feels deep at the base of his cock, which is hardening by the moment. For all his talk about resting, it's quite hard to do so when the man he's been aching to be with for a decade plus is squirming against his groin. “I wish you had shown it to me, I might've kissed you right then.”

He grazes his lips against the skin again. Newt moans softly.

“F-fuck, Hermann, I can't lose control right now...” Even while he says it, Newt cants his hips back against Hermann's cock, and Hermann lets out a groan of his own, hands sliding up and down Newt's exposed stomach. “This- this is a really bad idea...”

“You aren’t going to hurt me, Newton.” Hermann mutters against his ear. “I know you aren’t. Please, darling… would you allow me to touch you? Bringing you some gratification after all you’ve been through would be thoroughly satisfying.”

His hands itch to reach down, plunge beneath the hem of Newt's boxers and just grasp him, but Newt's consent is of the utmost concern because of how it's been taken away before. He will not, will _not_ , cause this man that he loves any more pain.

So, he keeps his hands above the waist, and waits.

Newt breathes out a few hard breaths, and Hermann can feel his indecision through the drift bond. It’s tearing him up, wanting Hermann, not wanting to hurt him, trusting Hermann, but not himself.

“Newton,” Hermann finally says, sliding his hands back up. “It’s alright. You don’t have to.”

“N-no! Wait,” Newt says, rolling over, grasping Hermann’s hands. “I, fuck… Tie my hands behind my back.”

“ _What_?” Hermann jerks with alarm. “Absolutely not! More restraints, are you _insane_?”

“Hermann, I need your hands all over me like _yesterday_ ,” Newt says, letting out a desperate laugh. “I can’t wait anymore. I just _can’t_ , okay? And I know it’s not fair to ask you to do this, I know-”

“That’s not what I’m bloody worried about, you daft fool,” Hermann says, cupping his cheek. “Everyone’s taken your control away. I won’t do that to you.”

“That’s not what it’d be,” Newt says, shaking his head. “Look, if I asked, you’d untie me, right?”

“Of course,” Hermann says. “Without hesitation.”

Newt smiles, turning his head to kiss Hermann’s hand. Hermann swallows as his heart drops into his stomach.

“And I knew you’d say that, because you just want to do what makes me happy,” Newt continues. “Well, I’m asking you for this, Herms. Nobody is forcing this on me. I’m deciding on the parameters here. Those parameters being a precaution that will let me be with you how I want to, that I trust you to be completely respectful of.”

“Isn’t there… blast it, Newt, there has to be another way,” Hermann says.

“What do you suggest?” Newt asks.

“I… I don’t know.” Hermann sighs. “Are you certain?”

Newt leans forward to kiss him again. “Just my hands, _mein Schatz_. Just so they don’t end up around your throat again. I don’t think either of us want to trigger any memories from the last time.”

He’s right about that. If Hermann had any hope of developing an asphyxiation fetish, it was certainly dashed after Newt almost strangled him to death.

“...Alright,” Herman acquiesces.

He slides away and gets up, moving to rummage through his closet. He considers his tie collection, but he would rather not destroy any of them, and worries about Newt's circulation if they become too tight; Hermann is a complete newcomer to this sort of thing, and his knots would likely be horrid. Instead he finds an old belt, shoved into a drawer but too small for him nowadays. _Perfect_.

Newt is lying still when he returns, eyes closed, his lips mouthing numbers as Hermann sits down beside him.

“How shall I…?” Hermann says, grasping for clarity.

“Behind my back,” Newt mumbles. “In front is too risky, and I don’t want to be tied _to_ anything, that’s just, that’s _too_ much.”

“Alright. Arms behind you, please,” Hermann says, and he loops the belt around Newt's wrists when they come together, tightening the leather until it's snug. There's no hole this far down the belt to push the metal rod through, but the belt is cheap enough where he can force it through the leather. That done, he slips the loose end through the buckle, tightening it. There’s a long trailing end, but Hermann tucks that under Newt’s hip to keep it out of the way.

“Give it a test,” Hermann says. “Is this okay?”

Newt twists his wrists, checking the tension of the leather. Once he’s seemingly satisfied that he won’t slip out of the binding easily, he opens his eyes and looks up, nodding. “Could you come back down here now? I really miss your hands on me.”

Hermann smiles and lays back down, this time in front of Newt. His breathing has sped up, and Hermann worries for a moment that it’s from panic, but from the way his pupils have dilated, and the bulge underneath the cotton of his boxers having grown… by jove, it’s _lust_.

“I'm not comfortable engaging in intercourse while you're like this,” Hermann says. “By that, I mean, penetration. To have our first attempt at that sort of intimacy while there are still limitations on how we may be together… I would rather not.”

“God, it sounds so clinical when you say it like that.” Newt’s mouth quirks in a smile, and he nods. “Okay. I wasn't really expecting you to be. What are you comfortable with?”

Hermann pulls Newt tight against him, tangles his legs between the other man's and presses his knee firmly against Newt's groin. Newt gasps and drops his head forward, rocking against Hermann's knee.

“Pretty much everything else,” Hermann murmurs, sliding a hand down to finally, blessedly cup Newt's cock beneath his boxers and squeeze. Newt lets out the most delicious sound, thrusting up against Hermann’s hand. He's already as firm and thick as one of the connector rods inside a Jaeger skeleton, but where those are normally cold, Newt is burning hot. Hermann slides his thumb up the underside of the shaft. Newt responds with a heavy whine, jerking his hips forward again.

“F-fuck! Don't stop that, oh my fucking god you need to keep touching me,” Newt says, leaning forward to catch Hermann's mouth in another kiss.

For all the restriction of movement of his arms, Newt is free to use other limbs, wrapping one leg around the back of Hermann's knee and thrusting upwards. Hermann shudders as Newt's cock slides against his palm, and suddenly he can't stand the fabric barrier anymore, can’t stand any sort of distancing, anything keeping them apart. He tugs Newt's boxers farther down, freeing his prick.

It's a veiny thing, muted purple at the top, streaked and shining with precome. Newt's tattoos end a few inches above the base, and Hermann is delighted to find the image of a kaiju leaping out of the sea lies directly above the head of his erection, water splashing upwards around it in an ascending, contextually erotic wave.

“You're a cheeky bastard,” Hermann says, laughing. “Completely mad.”

Newt joins him in laughing. “See, that's why I got it! 'Cause it's stupidly ridiculous and causes that reaction! It hasn't failed ye-”

His words stutter into a gasp and his eyes go wide as Hermann grasps the base of his cock and strokes his hand upwards.

“ _OhmyfuckinggodHermannyes_ ,” Newt hisses as Hermann repeats the motion.

Hermann tangles his other hand into Newt's hair and continues to stroke, watching the other man squirm and twist, gasp and writhe, tattoos dancing as the muscles underneath flex and release. Newt is vocal, unabashedly so, begging Hermann to continue, telling him how fast to go, how to flick his wrist just the right way, or rub that extra tender spot where his cock and balls align. Hermann is glad to listen, wants to know exactly the right ways to get the other man to come apart. Newt has never shyed away from being opinionated in any other aspect of his life, so it’s not a wonder that he’s the same in bed.

Hermann’s own cock hangs heavy beneath his boxers, wetting a small patch of fabric, but he feels no need to touch himself when the view alone is quite enough: Newt’s glassy eyes locked to him, his lips parted and shaking with every exhaled breath, his tongue darting out to trail lavishly across the lower one, wetting it and making it shine. Hermann leans in to kiss, nip gently at Newt’s mouth, it’s far too tempting to ignore, and Newt responds with a kind of encouraging sound, pressing closer, his knee rubbing insistently upwards against Hermann’s groin.

“Want to make you feel good too,” Newt mumbles, tongue lapping at the corner of Hermann’s mouth.

“In due time, my dear,” Hermann says. “I’m thoroughly enjoying listening to your directives at the moment, please continue.”

The confidence with which Newt directs Hermann’s movements makes him feel somewhat less skittish about the restraints, because one does not need one’s hands, apparently, to control a situation when one has a willing and obedient partner. And Hermann is happy to be that partner, happy to explore and learn what Newt has to teach him, cataloguing it away in his mental periphery for next time, when he can apply it in a less limiting scenario.

Newt suddenly winces, his arms jerking hard towards his front, his body tensing up. Hermann stops immediately.

“What's wrong?” He asks, cupping Newt's face in his hands. “What happened?”

“Told you,” Newt says, breathing in and out, closing his eyes. “Losing control… _fuck_! They see you and get angry and I come more undone, and I go from wanting to fuck you to wanting to strangle you.”

“Hmmm...” Hermann considers this, then sits up and crawls over the top of Newt, settling behind him. “Keep your eyes closed and try to breathe and count. Let me take care of you.”

“You're really good at that, you know?” Newt replies, taking another deep breath. “I think your taking care of me might be a kink of mine.”

“I'll note that for the future,” Hermann murmurs against his ear. He tugs Newt's boxers the rest of the way down, grasping his shaft again, and beginning to stroke. Newt's cock had wilted slightly, but it quickly returns to form, the vein on the underside fluttering as blood flows back to the area. Pretty soon he's making the same delightful noises he was before.

Now with Newt's backside rocking against his cock, the edges of Newt’s fingertips brushing against him, Hermann is finding his own arousal harder to ignore. He wants to take care of Newt, yes, that is his primary focus, but Newt melts under Hermann’s touch, responding in ways that tick all of Hermann’s boxes of being needed, being wanted, being _desired._ Newt’s squirming, his shaking, the whine in his voice underlying each panted word… it’s too much sensation, and Hermann’s cock demands attention.

Hermann yanks his boxers down around his knees. Newt’s body is positioned on the bed higher than his own to account for the height differential, which means when Hermann presses forward, his cock fits itself against the inward curve of Newt’s arse cheeks. Hermann groans, fingers digging into Newt’s hips. His cock is happy for the heat and the pressure, and he grinds into the space, gasping against the back of Newt’s neck. It’s delightful, it’s divine, and if this is the response his prick has to being trapped between the heat of their bodies… _bloody Christ_ , what’ll it be like when they can properly shag?

“Oh Jesus, oh fuck...!” Newt cries out, pushing himself back against Hermann's cock, moaning unabashedly. “I want that inside of me, oh my fucking god, Herm!”

Hermann shakes his head into Newt’s shoulder. “Not today, unfortunately... I've got an idea though.”

He twists around, reaching behind himself. There's a small bedside table next to them, and he opens the drawer, rummaging blindly until he finds the small bottle of lube he keeps there.

Hermann pops the cap with two fingers. “Just stay still, alright?”

“Really trying dude, but this is driving me fucking crazy!” Newt bucks back against him, as if to show exactly how hard and how _hard_ it is right now.

“You’ll be quite alright, stop being so dramatic,” Hermann replies. “Can you cup your hands together for me? Yes, there, like that…”

Hermann covers Newt’s hands with lube, working the slick fluid through his fingers. The slide of their hands together is oddly erotic, the lubricant making the movements smooth, the anticipation of what those slippery digits will be doing in a moment flaring a bubble of heat at the base of Hermann’s cock. Newt must agree, by the little noises he makes as Hermann swirls his thumbs into the center of Newt’s palms, massaging and lubricating at the same time.

“I want you to pleasure me with your hands,” Hermann says, tossing the bottle onto the mattress. “And I shall do the same for you. Does that sound nice?”

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to just fuck me?” Newt groans, shivering as Hermann’s hands come around his front.

“In due time, Newton,” Hermann replies. He makes a fist and slides it smoothly down onto Newt’s prick, then covers it with his other hand, squeezing. “Perhaps when you’re full in control of yourself, you’ll be the one buggering me.”

Newt’s legs kick up as Hermann tests him with a firm stroke downwards. “Oh _fuck_! Herms, stop. Jesus, keep your hand still. If you keep doing that I won’t last very long. You’ve got a strong grip, dude.”

“I use a cane, the strength differential between my right and left hands is quite pronounced,” Hermann replies. It’s obvious upon consideration, but Newt’s higher mental capacities are likely inhibited at the moment, so Hermann won’t tease him for not making the connection.

Hermann shivers when Newt thrusts into his hands, the excessive amount of lubricant squeezing out between his fingers. Then he moans when Newt’s hands, which have been scrabbling against his stomach and groin, finally join around Hermann’s cock. Tentatively, Hermann thrusts his hips forward, and feels Newt’s grip tighten around him, the bend of Newt’s knuckles providing a channel with a lovely lack of symmetry.

Newt snaps his hips back and forth, fucking himself into Hermann’s grip. “S-shit! Herms, can, can you play with my balls a little bit, I like hands all over me, I really like them everywhere.”

Hermann keeps his right hand firmly wrapped around Newt’s cock but drags the thumb of his left hand down the center of Newt’s sack, pushing up. Newt keens - Hermann didn't think that was a sound humans made, but that's the only way he can think of to describe the noise.

“You are, ah, _fascinating_ ,” Hermann croons, mirroring Newt’s thrusts with thrusts of his own. It’s harder to keep a grip when your hands are behind your back, but Newt is doing an admirable job, and Hermann knows he’ll easily end this encounter with a satisfying release.

Really, it’s only partially the feel of Newt’s hands on him that is getting Hermann off. The other part that’s turning Hermann on is knowing how badly Newt wants to make him feel good. Hermann can literally _feel_ Newt’s lust for him over the drift bond, can sense that Newt wants to beg Hermann to pin him to the bed and thrust into him, hivemind be damned. The thing of it is, Newt knows that Hermann would eventually give in, if only to make him happy. But Newt won’t abuse that trust, cares as deeply about Hermann feeling comfortable with what they’re doing as Hermann does for him. Knowing all that makes each thrust into Newt’s shaking hands all the more pleasing.

“Tell me how, _fuck_ , how I’m fascinating, Hermann…” Newt pleads.

“Certainly,” Hermann replies, nosing against the back of Newt’s neck. “You’re an inc-comprehensible enigma, whose sexual predilections I intend to study quite thoroughly…”

Newt whines, rolling his hips upwards. “Oh, _Jesus_ , I c-consent to any tests you wanna run me through, babe. Now until the end of t-time.”

They both thrust and move like this, rhythm not quite smooth but close enough to be wonderfully enjoyable. Hermann has his mouth pressed against Newt's shoulder, gasping and nipping and licking, tasting Newt, and he loves the taste so much that he's tempted to pin the other man down and swallow down his cock to the root, sucking him off just to be able to taste more. But the sensation is too good, and Newt is crying out in an ecstasy Hermann would be remiss to stop. So he keeps thrusting, licking, stroking as the heat in his balls tightens them up.

“You gotta come first,” Newt gasps. “I’m, I’m gonna lose it and your dick can’t be in my hand when I do…”

“You’re, ah, you’re truly that concerned?”

“Please, just-”

“It’s alright, dear… just give me a tight hold, yes?” Hermann mutters. The hand that has been playing with Newt’s balls and roaming over his lower half now grips Newt’s hip. Hermann thrusts fast and solidly a half a dozen times, and the pressure that has built releases, a delicious wave spreading up through his lower half as he also comes, shooting against Newt’s backside, imagining the leaping kaiju on Newt's waist splashing a wave hundreds of feet high.

“Oh, _Newton_ ,” Hermann moans, blissed out for a few seconds, unmoving. “Your hands can work wonders, can’t they?”

He thought he would be making Newt come first, but now that the plan has changed, his previous decision also changes. So, he rolls Newt onto his back, trapping his arms beneath him. Newt squirms, a whole shade of maroon, hips and thighs coated with lubricant and his cock dribbling pre-come. His chest is heaving, eyes black with lust, and despite the tingling aftereffects of the post-orgasm, Hermann feels a tinge of arousal at the sight.

Newt cries out when Hermann leans down and swallows him, ignoring the odd, chemical taste of the lubricant and sucking hard, sensing how close Newt is to the edge. He pins Newt’s hips to the bed, sensing that without use of his hands, Newt needs someone else to hold him steady through the coming release. Newt is crooning his name, half-sobbing it, a desperate atheistic prayer as his body threatens to come undone under the firm guide of Hermann’s lips.

Newt lets out his loudest cry yet and Hermann feels him jerk and shudder, arching up off the bed in an arc that one might call graceful, if one were being poetic. The taste of bitter salt floods Hermann’s mouth, and he doesn’t pull away, swallows it all down. He was never a fan of this type of acquiescence, preferring to finish a partner with some manual stimulation. However, the closer Newt had gotten to release, the more Hermann had sensed his hesitant excitement, because Hermann didn’t seem to be pulling away, and would he really be allowed, would Hermann let him do that? Really, Hermann had to try it, just to see the reaction, and Newt’s overjoyed yelling and writhing is reward enough. Besides, if Newt is willing to risk mental distress from the hivemind just to be with him, Hermann wants Newt’s loss of control to be especially worthwhile.

Afterwards, Hermann keeps a hand against Newt’s chest, holding Newt down while the other man breathes in and out, body shaking in what Hermann suspects is the effect of the hivemind trying to regain control. Hermann murmurs the count against Newt's ear, stroking his free hand up and down his side, until at last Newt isn't shaking, is breathing quietly and peacefully. Only then, with Newt answering affirmatively to his question, does Hermann reach down and untie the belt, freeing his wrists.

“Anyone who says nerds don't get laid is a liar,” Newt says, looking up at him softly, flush with a post-orgasmic glow. “Holy shit, dude, I love that brain of yours. Closing out with a blow-job and letting me come down your throat? _Epic._ ”

“Your penchant for wild flights of fancy has rubbed off on me,” Hermann says, leaning down to kiss him softly. Newt drags him back down onto the bed, wraps himself bodily around Hermann, nuzzling into his chest, and Hermann holds him just as tight, breathing in his scent.

“Thanks,” Newt mumbles, fingers stroking soft lines down the center of Hermann's chest. “I needed that. I feel almost human again.”

“I'm happy to assist you whenever you require it, moving forward,” Hermann replies. He presses a kiss to Newt's forehead. “A good partnership is based in mutual respect and consideration for each other's wants and needs.”

“I don't think I've been the best partner then,” Newt says. “By that definition, I kind of suck at it.”

“We've both had our faults, darling,” Hermann assures him. “If either of us had been courageous enough to put ourselves out there, this mess would've never occurred. I blame myself equally.”

“Herm... tell me about MegaTokyo.”

Hermann pauses the line of kisses he’s been laying across Newt’s forehead, looking down to meet his gaze. “Must I really tell you this instant?”

“You said you would. I kept up my end of the bargain. Come on, dude.”

“I was just… I was hoping to enjoy the remainder of my time awake this evening,” Hermann says. “This has been an almost perfect day. Can it not wait for the morning?”

Newt is searching his expression, eyes darting back and forth like he's a particularly puzzling bit of data that needs dissecting. Hermann hopes Newt won't try to piece that puzzle together yet; he's very much enjoying being disassembled with the other man.

Thankfully, Newt sighs and nods.

“Okay. Promise you'll tell me in the morning.” Newt holds up one hand with his small finger jutting out. “Pinky swear it.”

Hermann smiles and meets Newt's pinky with his own.

“I promise,” he says, leaning over to kiss Newt again, mouth dragging languidly, tongue lazily licking against his lips. He has no desire to attempt another go, but this half-aroused, half-spent sensation is a lovely middle ground for them to stay in for a while.

Newt's eyes are hooded, expression soft and blissed out. Hermann wishes he could look like this all the time, so relaxed, care free, like the rest of their problems are figments, ghosts of another dimension. In a sense, they are, but in another sense, they're cold, hard facts of their current reality.

Tomorrow will come, and Hermann will explain what happened in MegaTokyo, the city half destroyed, the thousands dead. Newt will blame himself, no matter how little control he had over the events leading up to it. Newt will hear the death toll and every casualty will weigh on his heart, a mass of lost souls that threaten to drag him down like the hive mind. And how will the rest of the world react, when they meet this man who did and did not almost destroy the world?

 _This wasn't the hardest bit, was it?_  Hermann thinks, resting his forehead against Newt's, eyes closed, tip of his nose dragging against Newt's cheek as he twists his head to meet Newt's mouth again. _It will only get harder from here. We've only just begun fighting._

Tomorrow will come. All of Hermann's theories and equations have yet to find him a way to freeze a moment in time. There are so many moments in the past where he's had this impotent, impossible desire. Moments he wishes could be lived in an infinite timescape, a dimension made up of mere seconds repeating instead of never ending millennia. The moment before his mother passed. The first time he met Newt. The beautiful seconds their minds were connected in the first drift, diving into the other man's head and feeling like he had come home for the first time. Newt's arm wrapped around his shoulder. Finding him again in the void after ten years. Kissing him back from the hivemind. Reading Newt’s confession of love. Telling Newt his feelings were reciprocated. And now.

The curious thing about that one, perfect moment, though, is if you remain there, you shall never get to experience the next one.

There is pain ahead, so much. Hermann can sense it, like the way his hip will ache before an approaching storm. This is not the end of a hard road, but the eye of the hurricane, this momentary respite, before it crashes back into them renewed.

But they'll no longer be buffeted by the winds alone. He'll be Newt's lifeline, and Newt will be his. Sharing the neural load once more.

He sounds like a bloody _poet_.

Ah well. _Carpe diem_  and all that.

 

END PART 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Explicit sexual content, begins at "My god, Newton," and ends (mostly) at "Afterwards, Hermann keeps a hand against Newt's chest" 
> 
> Yeah, ya'll, we've finally hit the explicit rating :D :D :D
> 
> OH MY GOOOOOD YOU GUYS THAT'S THE END OF PART ONE. You have no idea how much it took to get me here, and I want to give a shoutout to some special people.
> 
> To nateobite, for literally shrieking over my writing way too much and drawing for this fic and being so super encouraging. You're amazing, boo <3  
> To dont_be_hasty for literally doing the lord's work and taking so much time to beta despite also having a ton in their own life to do. This fic would not be half as amazing without your ability to pick out what needs fixing, giving constructive crit, and also so much praise that I wanna shriek like a banshee every time I get a beta'd copy back.  
> To peppermintquartz who I'm an IDIOT for not mentioning in the Liwen chapter, for helping me out with Chinese words and cultural ideas, and for also not dropping my ass after I ghosted from Hannibal fandom for like 2 years. YOU ARE AMAZING AND I WILL TRY TO BE MORE IN COMMINUCADO.  
> To sir_not_appearing_in_this_archive for helping beta the sexy-times to ensure maximum pleasure for Newt, Herms, and the reader. FanTAStic work!  
> To everyone on twitter, tumblr, and the Archive for their constant, unrelenting, and frankly unnecessarily nice reaction to this fic. Not wanting to disappoint those of you who are enjoying this was pure fire under my butt in terms of motivation.
> 
> Okay, so here's the deal. This concludes the "Bring You Home" arc of this story. I'm taking a week off to rest, recharge, and get more of the rough draft completed. Part 2, the "Set You Free" arc, will begin after a short intermission chapter, the week starting June 3rd. I've left plenty of plot threads unraveled going into part 2, but if you came here looking for "Hermann saves Newt and they confess their feelings," then this might be a satisfying conclusion for you. Part 2 is going to be a lot more complex, with everyone trying to figure out what happened to Newt, new antagonists making our protagonists' lives harder, the return of familiar faces, as well as some new friends, HELLA MORE ANGST, but also more humor, sex, feels, Newt and Hermann going on their own journeys of recovery, and Newmann loveliness (and that implied Nate/Jake finally getting some long needed love).
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: The name of this fic is going to be updated! Part 2 will begin the "Set You Free" arc, and so the new title of this fic will be "Bring You Home, Set You Free" when the first chapter of Part 2 gets posted. I will also be editing the fic summary to reflect that Part 1 is completed, and chapter titles to make it easier for new readers to know what they're in for. If you've been waiting to read or rec' this fic because it's a WIP, now might be the time to go for it!
> 
> Still looking for an Urdu translator and someone versed in British-Pakistani culture. I'd really love the help! Doesn't have to be someone in PR fandom.
> 
> SEE YOU NEXT LEVEL!!


	20. Intermezzo

_There is a man seated at a desk in an office, somewhere on planet Earth, eyes scanning across a screen as he reads data. This is not an abnormal thing for a man to be doing. In fact, there are many men all over the planet, right now, doing the very same thing, whose lives are quite ordinary, and unaffecting to this story. If one were to look at this man, one might find him ordinary looking as well, not a face one recalls as unique or memorable, which is how he likes it. He has reason for not wishing his face to be recalled._

_No, reader. The only thing unique about this man to our story at the present moment, is that the data that he is reading currently, comes from a neural scan of the file of a one Doctor Newton Geiszler, PhD, PhD, PhD, PhD, PhD, PhD. The man has obtained this file without the good doctor's consent, because if Dr. Geiszler were to know of the man's reason for wanting this file, then everything would be lost. Everything that this man of the ordinary, unmemorable face has worked for, over many years, lied for, intimidated people for, used people for, abused people for. All of it would be gone, because Dr. Geiszler knows something about this man. The question becomes, does he know that he knows?_

_"He hasn't said anythin'," the man says, to another man in the room, also quite ordinary, face perhaps more memorable, but luckily for the first man, Dr. Geiszler does not know it. "He's been awake for, what, a week now? And still, I find myself with no questions asked."_

_"There wasn't anything about it in the files they pulled out of his apartment," the second man says. "You did a good job sweeping for data early on, and that means there's no physical trail for him to follow."_

_"You think he really doesn't remember?" the first man asks._

_"I don't know, you tell me. You're the one who's met him before."_

_The first man turns back to the screen, tapping on it and pulling up the DEEG scan, eyes and finger tracing over it in the same way Dr. Gottlieb's had that first time, seeing the vaulting hivemind signal and the bare murmur of the human one. Of course, the first man does not know that Dr. Gottlieb looked at the scan this way, saw that bump as a glimmer of hope, a sign that all wasn't lost. The first man sees it differently. He sees the mistake he made in believing that Dr. Geiszler would no longer be a problem. He sees how he should've just had someone take the man out, bury him in some back alley in Shanghai, back when no one was watching._

_Now, everyone is watching Newton Geiszler._

_"I won't lose everythin' now," the first man says, swiping to the right to bring up an new DEEG. This is the most recent one, hacked from Dr. Pitafi's records. Dr. Geiszler’s signal is strong and growing stronger, the hivemind chaos fading downwards. If what he theorizes is true, if Dr. Geiszler really has no memory... then that chaos may be the only thing keeping the truth buried._

_Time is running out to take care of this problem._

_"Just let me deal with him, boss," the second man says, lounging on the couch in the corner of the room. "He's not the first fool I've disembowled in an empty hallway."_

_"You'll never get him alone. That's the first problem," the first man says. "Dr. Gottlieb sticks to him like a good guard dog. And if not him, then his uncle, or the neurologist, or those fuckin' Jaeger pilots. He's always bein' watched. If we're going to dispatch him, then we can't leave a trail. Secondly, more than that... his death needs to be the end of any questions about whose to blame. He needs to look guilty. That means, no poisonin' or throat slittin' this time. He needs to look like he's tryin' to escape what he deserves."_

_"And you're not worried about whats-his-face spilling the beans?"_

_"Who- oh, him? He'll go right down with me if he does. He's as caught up in this mess as the rest of us."_

_"So then," the second man says. "What's the plan?"_

_"Still formulatin' that," the first man says, staring at the screen. "Might take a few more weeks. We've got time, but not much. I need you to be ready though. I think you'll be needed soon."_

_"Put me in, coach," the second man says, smiling. "You know I like a challenge."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one to whet your appetites ;) Next chapter soon, this break has been lovely but I'm excited to jump into Part 2!


	21. Set You Free: Chapter 1

Newt asks again in the morning.

Hermann tells him, finally. About MegaTokyo, the three Kaiju fusing into the Mega-Kaiju, the battle, Mt. Fuji. The calamitous destruction of the city, how dozens of buildings were felled by the combatants, how there was little warning for the citizens, how many shelters were forced to close before they were full, in the wake of the oncoming destruction, only half full, a quarter full, leaving those fleeing towards them to face certain death.

Newt doesn’t remember it, not a single bit. Lost to the void, swallowed by the darkness. He doesn’t remember shouting cruel taunts across the static, as his own hands activated more corrupted coding, released drones, directed the scene, conductor of a grand opera of Armageddon. Doesn’t remember ordering the Mega-Kaiju to tear apart Bracer Phoenix, or watching Guardian Bravo shatter against skyscrapers, breaking the body and snuffing out the life of young Ranger Khuran. Doesn’t remember Hermann’s brilliant rocket sending Gipsy Avenger hurtling into the Mega-Kaiju, ending the battle before world-wide destruction could result. And he doesn’t remember Lambert’s swift punch that knocked him cold, though that one he’s glad to forget.

"How many?" Newt asks. The question doesn't need an ending. There’s only one obvious query.

Hermann reaches out to clasp Newt’s hand. Newt can feel Hermann’s struggle across the drift bond, wanting to push it away, forget it, pretend it hasn’t happened. It’s impossible. They’re ten years too late to prevent the outcome. _I should’ve kissed you back then_ , Newt thinks, for the thousandth time since Hermann had confessed his love in the lab. _We could’ve had those ten years and beyond, and now who knows if we’ll have to the end of the month?_

"Twenty-thousand," Hermann says, finally, the words cutting against his teeth like they’re being dragged off his tongue. "At last count."

Newt stares at him.

Newt stares at him for a long, long time.

Then he stands up, walks to the bathroom, and shuts the door.

He sits down on the toilet, elbows on knees, head in his hands. The room is cold, the seat even colder, and goosebumps prickle across his arms. The faucet is dripping, a constant leak that never goes away, _drip, drop, drip_ , and that’s three drops, which is nineteen-thousand, nine-hundred and ninety seven less than, than. Less than. Less than what? Oh.

_Twenty-thousand._

It’s a data point, an abstract, he can’t capture it, can’t visualize it, it’s not sticking, it won’t stick.

_Allow us to help_ , says his brain.

_Twenty-thousand dead. Twenty-thousand people. Twenty-thousand human beings with lives and families and children and parents and friends and lovers and pets and hopes and ambitions and potential and everyone you’ve ever known and loved, everyone you’ve ever worked with, everyone you’ve just said hello to on the street could be added together and it still wouldn’t be that many. Twenty-thousand people dead, lives snuffed out, in pain and fear, some dying instantly, some slowly crushed under rubble, screaming for their mothers and fathers and lovers and children and no one hears them, no one there to save them, and it's all-_

No! Fuck, no, can't think that way. It’s the hivemind again, all over again, whispering lies into his brain, falsehoods of his worthlessness. He can’t believe it, except maybe, maybe they aren’t lies, because there are twenty-thousand people who don’t exist anymore, and someone must be blamed, right? Someone caused it.

_You know who._

No. No, it can’t be

_your fault-_

"No," Newt says, dragging his hands up through his hair. "It's not. It's not."

_your fault all your fault-_

"I didn't know," Newt says to no one. "I couldn't have known."

The room is getting smaller, and he curls in farther, trying to fit into this confined space. The water in the faucet counts out the dead. _Drip, drop, drip._ It won’t stop, will it? The room will keep him here, until he hears them all, every solitary drop a memorial, a reminder of a person lost. He’ll hear them all, what sort of person respects the dead so little as to not honor them in this way?

There’s a gurgle in the toilet tank. Newt shifts, whimpers. Stop it, it’s just a pocket of air, not a laugh of contempt. It’s not real.

_You are contemptable, though, curled on this seat, wallowing in the fear of the soon to die. It’s not even your fear to have. It’s what you drowned that city in._

MegaTokyo. Twenty-thousand.

_What have you done, Newt? What have you done?_

"Newt?" Hermann knocks on the door. "Newt, can I come in?"

_It’s all your fault, they're all dead because of you_ -

"Stop it," Newt moans. "Get out of my head!"

"Newton! Newton, who are you shouting at?" Hermann's knocking is harder, more insistent, worried. Newt needs to get up, needs to flee this place, but he can’t move his legs. The screams in his head, the hivemind, they won’t let him-

_No Newt, this isn't the hivemind, it's your conscience, you fucking idiot. You couldn't help yourself, could you? You needed people to see you as some scientific savant, remind them why you were a hero of the Breach, couldn’t stand the thought of obscurity, of fading into the history books as a name on the page that college kids would half-remember two centuries from now. You wanted the rush of the drift back, wanted to prove you didn’t need him, could go on without him, that you didn’t need anyone, that you could take on the conscience of an entire other dimension, because you’re Newton fucking Geiszler, and six PhDs couldn’t fill the gaping hole in your chest, but maybe glory could. Isn’t that what you wanted? Isn’t it? Just admit it._

“ _No_ ,” Newt says, so softly, he barely hears himself. “It’s not-”

_And now people are dead, do you understand that? Don’t you fucking get it by now, Newt? There is no other explanation. No other option. Stop hiding from it. Admit it._

“I _can’t_ ,” Newt whispers.

He hears the door open. Hermann's cane, and then his feet, step into view, but they're blurry, a translucent sheen obscuring Newt’s vision. Hermann squats, and Newt blinks, because Hermann’s face is blurry, but Newt is wearing his glasses, so why would that be?

His question is answered when Hermann reaches out to wipe a thumb against his cheek.

"Newton, why are you crying?" Hermann asks, voice so low and halting. It terrifies Newt.

"I don't know," Newt says, but that's a lie.

"Can you return to bed with me?" Hermann asks. "I want to speak with you."

"What's there to talk about?" Newt says. Is that his own voice? It sounds so lifeless. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Please, let us adjourn back to the bed."

"Leave me alone," Newt says. His breath is coming in short, fast gasps. He should slow them down. He can't slow down. Can't control it, no control, they took all his control before, it's not his fault, it can't be, it's not.

_It is._

"Why can't you all just leave me alone?" Newt gasps. The room is spinning, and he grabs his knees to keep upright.

"Newt, _mein Schatz_ , you need to breathe." Hermann is stroking his arms, a panicked look on his face. "Come back to bed, come back with me-"

" _Stop telling me what to do_!"

Newt screams, finally snapping, voice out of his throat like a shot.

Hermann cringes back, looks afraid for one horrible second.

_No,_ Newt thinks, _please no, don’t you hate me too._ That's all it takes.

Newt crumples, folding, sliding off the toilet onto Hermann's lap. Hermann's cane clatters to the floor, and he drops to sit as Newt collapses against him. Newt buries his face in Hermann’s chest and lets go of hard, pained sobs, crying in a way he hasn't since his father passed twenty years back.

" _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_ ," Newt repeats through choked gasps, gripping Hermann's t-shirt in locked fists, as the weight of what he's done finally comes down full force into his reality. Hermann's arms wrap tightly around him, holding him as the sobs wrack his body.

"It wasn't your fault," Hermann murmurs against his hair, stroking his back. He doesn't deserve this kind of comfort. How can Hermann hope to comfort away twenty-thousand lives? "They made you do it, my dear. You weren't in control."

"S-stop it, Herm," Newt says, shaking, feeling so weak, too weak, he's always been too fucking weak and the hivemind knew it, and that's why this all happened. "You've never lied to me so d-don't start now!"

Weak, cowardly, egotistical, foolhardy, he's all of them, and they all led to this.

"If you're to blame, then I am too, Newt," Hermann replies, still rubbing circles across his back, and Newt knows he wants to heal, to protect, but he can't protect Newt, not from this. "I should've made more of an effort-"

"I'm not your fucking responsibility, Hermann!" Newt shouts, snapping back and forth between rage and grief. He can _feel_ the hivemind buzzing in the back of his brain, and they love this, don't they just love this? Seeing him undone, knowing his own ego led to this. "Fuck... I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

They sit on the bathroom floor, curled around one another. Time passes, he's not sure how long. The human body only has so much capacity for unbridled grief, and eventually Newt calms down, physically at least. Inside, he's a roiling mass of anger, self-hatred and despair. The pit in his stomach is so wide as to be cavernous, like it's sucked in his heart, squeezing every last drop of joy he's found in the last week. How could he have been so fucking stupid, pretending there was a respite to be found by ignoring reality for his reunion with Hermann?

Twenty-thousand people, all dead, by his hand.

"They're going to string me up," Newt mumbles, breaking the silence. "You know that, don't you, babe?"

Hermann's arms squeeze him so tight, as if he holds tight enough, no one can take Newt away. "Over my bloody dead body."

"It won't be undeserved."

"Newton Geiszler, if you truly love me, then never imply that you deserve death ever again."

"How can you still love me, Hermann? After everything I put you through… fuck, I'll just put you through more. Watching me go through what’s gonna happen, you shouldn’t- you've never deserved it, Hermann."

"Listen to me."

Hermann nudges Newt's chin up so that they meet eyes. Hermann's are just as red rimmed as Newt imagines his own are. It breaks Newt's heart.

"Do you remember that night you found me inebriated in our lab,” Hermann says, “because I had received a letter from my father, chastising me yet _again_ for focusing my work on Jaegers, and saying that he'd heard our funding would soon be completely cut? I was so disheartened that I decided I might as well try the good tequila at the commissary before I was shipped off and drank myself silly."

"Yeah, I think, yeah. You were in _my_ chair, that's how shit-faced you were," Newt says, recalling the memory. "Poking kaiju parts with your fingers and cursing at them for being useless."

"Yes. But do you remember what you said to me that night? Somewhere during your attempt to drag me back to my bunk and sleep it off."

"No. You do? You were plastered."

"I do," Hermann says, nodding. "Because it struck me so deeply that I have always admired you for cheering me with it."

"Well... what did I say?"

"You told me that if I didn't believe in myself, then I should _believe in the me that believes in you_.” Hermann’s eyebrows dip, as if he’s annoyed by even saying it. “While _wildly_ grammatically incoherent, I instantly took the meaning. If I had no confidence in myself, then I must rely on the confidence you had in me. So, now I would ask you to do the same, Newton. Believe in the me who believes in you."

Newt's face is impassive, implacable for just a second, before he snorts and drops his face against Hermann's shoulder, beginning to giggle.

"Oh my fucking god, holy _shit_ , Hermann,” Newt says. “I quoted fucking _Gurren Lagann_ at you and you thought I was being deep? That, that’s fucking priceless!"

"I take by your uncontrollable amusement that I'm missing part of the context," Hermann says, looking put out.

"Oh my god, I think this officially makes you an _otaku_." Newt wipes away tears, but this time they’re tears of laughter, of stress released by the shock of this utterly ridiculous conversation.

"I'm a… a what?"

Newt shakes his head. "You don't want to know, babe. I promise."

"Whatever the case, Newton, the point remains." Hermann nudges Newt off his lap, stands, and offers out a hand. "If you cannot love yourself at this point, then know that I love you. If you do not believe that you can move on from these dark circumstances, then know that I do."

"You're insane," Newt says, taking his hand. "Eh, I guess you'd have to be, to believe in me that much, after everything."

Newt lets Hermann help him to his feet and leans into him as they walk back to the bed. When they reach the end, Newt wraps him up in a tight hug.

“Newton?” Hermann asks.

Newt shakes his head. "I don't deserve you, Hermann Gottlieb."

"You deserve so much better than you believe, Newt." Hermann pulls him down onto the bed, wrapping them together under the covers. "I'd like you to try something."

"What?"

"I've asked Dr. Pitafi to search for a counselor who specializes in trauma and grief. She told me earlier this week she's found someone."

Newt frowns, shaking his head. "A therapist? You think I'm just going to counsel my way out of guilt over twenty-thousand dead people?"

"Just a few sessions," Hermann replies, leaning in to kiss him. “You’ve suffered an immense amount because of the Precursor’s influence. Even brief therapy is helpful to those dealing with traumatic circumstances.”

"Dude, did you Google _How to Convince Your Loved One to See A Therapist_ before deciding to have this conversation? Wait, nah, I don’t care if you did, honestly. Fine, fuck. I’ll go. But only one session. If I hate it, I'm walking."

Hermann looks hesitant, like he wants to argue it, but Newt is a stubborn mule and they are attempting this whole let-Newt-decide-things-for-himself experiment, so eventually the fight goes out of Hermann’s eyes and he sighs, kissing Newt again. "Alright. Thank you."

He keeps kissing, and Newt's still far too depressed for it to lead to anything, but the fact that Hermann still kisses him, still holds him, still wants him... it's kind of amazing. He keeps thinking back to that note, one stupid little piece of paper- if he'd just _said_ those things instead of taking the easy way out, then twenty-thousand people would still be alive.

Saying he feels like an asshole, well, it's not strong enough for how much he despises himself right now. He feels like a mistake. Like Monica was right to leave. Like she knew, _what have I created? It will destroy us._

He can hear noises outside the door, people waking, beginning to go about their day. What will they think of him? How can he face any of them? Dozens of people must've died here, and the ones who didn't walk around knowing those who perished. Newt hasn't really been in public since he woke up, but Hermann has work to do, and he can't hide away in here forever, right? He's going to have to step out that door.

For now, he presses closer to Hermann, cheek to cheek, rubbing a thumb against the back of his neck. Hermann still loves him, but Hermann can't stop the rest of the world from burying him for this. He needs to savor the time they have, because it won't be forever.

"Stay with me," Newt murmurs, kissing him. "Until the end."

"I’m not going anywhere," Hermann says. “And neither are you.”

Newt can’t believe it, so Hermann will have to, for the both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: panic attacks, emotional breakdowns
> 
> Welcome to part 2 :)
> 
> I'm going to be switching to a 2x a week schedule for now. Once I finally fully complete the rough draft, that may change.


	22. Set You Free: Chapter 2

The waiting room is empty except for Newt and Hermann. Chairs line two of the walls, a screen on the third wall muted but showing the international news. Newt doesn't look up at it, doesn't want to see if he's on it, or if there’s any news about MegaTokyo. There's a small electric waterfall trickling on a side table, and a fern in the corner. Two doors lead out of the room, one back out to the base, one going further into the office.

Newt sits in a chair, elbows on his knees, one leg jiggling rapidly, a bundle of nerves. Hermann sits next to him, hand on his shoulder, saying nothing. They haven't said much since they got back out of bed, dressed and came here. He's borrowed an old pair of Hermann's jeans (far too long and a tad snug) and a t-shirt (just right, thankfully Hermann prefers them oversized). They smell like the old lab, like he hasn't worn them since their days involved kaiju blood, viscous fluids, and lots of hand sanitizer.

Under his feet, the carpet is an ugly paisley blue color, something out of the early 2010s that probably hasn't been changed since then. Not the doc's fault; she's apparently only been here a few days. Hermann and Hadiyya arranged this session before he'd even agreed to it, which is pretty fucking presumptive, but of course, Hermann knows him too damn well, knows he'll give in if it's Hermann asking. He could’ve said no, to fuck right off, but, well, he’s gone to all the trouble. Newt might as well give it a shot.

He jerks his head up when the door opens. A tall, thin woman with medium-brown skin and a neatly shaped afro is behind it. She wears square-rimmed glasses, a button-down grey shirt with a maroon skinny tie, and matching slacks. He feels like he's seen her, or someone very like her, but can't put the face to name.

"Dr. Geiszler?" she asks, voice a tinge nasally, British in a similar way to Hermann, but still perfectly pleasant and cheery.  "I'm Dr. Ayoade. I'm ready if you'd like to come in."

"Illia will be here when you get out," Hermann says, squeezing his shoulder. "Alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Herm. You go work. At least one of us still can." Newt stands up, giving Hermann his best impression of a smile, and follows her.

The office behind the door is smaller. There are two leather couches facing one another, and a small desk in the corner with a laptop lying on it.  He can see more personal touches that she's likely brought with her: a few photos are placed on the desk, facing away from him, and ironically, a Newton's cradle.

"I'm assuming that's a coincidence," Newt says, motioning to the knick knack as he takes a seat on the couch.

"That? Oh. Present from my uncle. Bit of a nerd, lovely man." She says, smiling and sitting across from him. "I have the feeling you had a few of those given to you as a joke."

Newt nods. "I've got, like, thirty of them. People aren't very original." He holds out the tablet that was left for him in the waiting room. "I filled out the intake form."

"Thank you. Let me just take a quick peek."

She scans over the form, noting the information he's chosen to put: forty-five-years-old, German-American heritage, raised by father and uncle, bisexual and currently in a relationship (he wasn't sure what to put for that one, until Hermann told him in no uncertain terms "of course it's a bloody relationship, you are my partner, in all of the ways that word is defined"), no major medical issues, except for the whole 'hivemind has infected my brain and caused me to commit mass genocide' thing. Otherwise, healthy, non-smoker, sent to counseling as a teenager but didn't get much out of it, and currently unemployed, unless Liwen has a super special surprise she's not telling him about.

"I appreciate what you've put down here, Dr. Geiszler," Dr. Ayoade says. "Some people clam up completely when someone else is pushing them to come to therapy."

Newt shrugs, clasps his hands in his lap. "Nothing on there is a big secret, doc. I mean, I could make something up if you want. How about, I definitely want to fuck a kaiju, it's my darkest secret! Pretty sure everyone believes that anyway."

She smiles. "That's alright, plenty of things on here to talk about. So, how do you like to be addressed?" she asks. "You left that one blank."

"Oh, uh, Newt, I guess. Not big on throwing my title around unless I need to teach any dipshits in the room exactly how out of their league I am."

"Lots of confidence in your intelligence. Alright. Then you can call me Monique, or Dr. Ayoade, or just 'Doc.' Up to you." She puts the tablet down on the side table next to the couch and crosses one leg over the other. Her eyes are bright, interested, lacking judgement. "So, could you give me an idea of why Dr. Gottlieb wanted you to come here?"

Newt slumps back into the couch, sighing. "I don't know if Herms or Dr. Pitafi gave you a heads up about things. That's if it's not all over the news already, I don't know. I've only been back to myself for like, a week, and most of that's been in isolation. Basically, I killed a bunch of people and kind of hate myself now? I mean, I guess I didn't specifically do it. The hivemind, uh, the Precursors took over control of me and made me build all this shit to try and help them end our world. I know it sounds pretty fucking insane, I get that." He rests one leg over the other and grips his calf between his fists. "But that's what happened. It's kind of a Steve Urkel situation. You know, _did I do that_? Whoops! Guess so. Except the whoops here is a whole lot of dead people." _Tasteless_ , Newt thinks. _Why the fuck am I so tasteless sometimes?_

"So, Dr. Gottlieb is likely concerned about your mental well-being after this," Dr. Ayoade says, nodding.

"Yeah, exactly. If what I just said didn't clue you in, I can kind of be a fuck-up sometimes." He lets out a strained chuckle. "I thought I could handle drifting by myself again with a kaiju brain, and instead of asking for help or, y'know, taking a second to think, 'hey Newt, maybe hooking your head up to a giant hivemind that almost killed you the first time isn't a great idea!' I was so focused on what I could learn that I ignored the dangers. That's kind of my thing. I've probably given Hermann plenty of stress ulcers over almost killing myself multiple times."

"And you believe your lack of forethought caused what happened."

"Yep, basically. Got it in one. So, we're good, right? You've solved me, I'm cured!"

Dr. Ayoade leans forward, smiling faintly. "It would be nice if it was that easy, wouldn't it be? But I understand why all of this would cause you stress. It seems to me like you have an idea about who you are as a person, and being the cause of so much death doesn't fit into that picture."

"Does it fit into anybody's?" Newt asks, frowning. "The kind of person who'd just be okay with causing thousands of people to die, they'd have to be a piece of shit."

"And yet you do care."

"Of course, I do. I'm not, like, Hannibal Lecter over here. But then, when I thought I'd... I'd _killed_ Hermann, Jesus... I just _didn't_ care. My giving a shit about anything disappeared from the universe when he did. When I thought he did, I mean."

"He's important to you."

"The most."

"You didn't name your relationship, but is it safe to assume...?"

"Yeah. The stupid thing is, we spent twenty-two years dancing around each other before we got to this point. I mean, we're both obtuse sometimes, but I knew I was in love with him ten years ago, doc, and all I could do was write him a letter? I'd put my brain on the line to drift with a fucking Kaiju, and I still wasn't brave enough to tell him how I felt."

"But you've told him now."

"Mhmm."

"How did it feel to let him know?" She folds her hands over her knees, and he catches sight of a wedding band shining in the light.

"Like... like I'd finally completed a puzzle I'd spent my whole life making," Newt says, rubbing the back of his neck. He's still looking at her hands, more as a distraction from having to look her in the eye. "It was better than anything, no fucking competition. Better than getting all my degrees. Even drifting with the Kaiju- god, what a rush, but still. Couldn't compare." He shakes his head, snorting. "Still doesn't change what I did."

He meets Dr. Ayoade's eyes for a moment. She's got a good poker face, he can't tell what she's thinking. She doesn't say anything for a while either. Maybe she's processing, maybe she thinks he's trash. The silence isn't comfortable. That was the one thing that the hivemind was good for, a distraction. A lack of silence, so he didn't have time to think about anything painful. But now the hivemind is a distant, faded buzz, and the clock above the wall ticks, each second snapping against his brain like a rubber band. Quiet, he's spent his whole life filling the quiet with equations and experiments, and when he couldn't engage in something fruitful, distractions to fill the void: anime, manga, action flicks, music, sex, occasionally drugs. None of it is here. It's just his own mind, and the woman sitting across from him.

"What are you thinking about?" she finally asks.

"How goddamn quiet it just got," he says. "Isn't therapy supposed to be about talking?"

"You don't like quiet," she says. It's a statement, not a question, no hypothesizing this one.

"No."

"Is it the quiet, or what you think about during the quiet?"

He smirks. "Oh, you're good, Doc. No wonder they gave you a degree. Yanno, maybe Hermann should swing by after. He's definitely got some daddy issues to work through. And after that, you can do couple's counseling for Lambert and Pentecost, I've heard they've got this Monica and Chandler thing going. Very 90s! Much drama."

She laughs, and there's no hint of malice in it. "I believe I met them a few days ago. I can definitely see why you'd say that."

"Would that make Reyes the ‘Joey’ of their triad? It must. Joey and Chandler definitely had that mid-90s, coded gay shit going on. Wait, maybe Lambert and Pentecost are Joey and Chandler, then."

"I wonder if you've noticed what I have," Dr. Ayoade says, motioning with a hand. "I asked you a question that might lead to a difficult subject, and you deflected it with humor."

"I mean, yeah, I guess."

"I'd wonder if that's something you do a lot," she continues. "You've been doing it quite a bit while we've been talking, making jokes, making light of how you're feeling."

"Isn't it kind of obvious how I'm feeling?"

"You've talked about what you did, Newt, but understanding how you feel is a lot more nuanced than a word like 'bad' or 'guilty.' This was a traumatic event that you experienced. Traumatic events, how we act during critical moments, they shift how we view ourselves. You said that when you believed Dr. Gottlieb was dead, you stopped caring."

"I gave up," he says.

"You gave up," she repeats. "Implying that in that moment, there was nothing else you cared enough about to keep going. But that doesn't just occur overnight, Newt. If Hermann was your last connection to the world, what happened to the rest of it?"

"The hivemind," Newt says. He swallows, pressing a hand over his face. The buzzing in his head seems louder. "They took everything away from me, but Hermann. I don't know why, maybe just to give me that last bit of hope to kill? Maybe because he's so integral to the work I've done that taking him would destroy why they needed me? I don't know."

"There's a word I keep thinking of when you talk about that," Dr. Ayoade says, leaning back. "Subsumed. Would it be correct to say, you were subsumed by this hivemind, made into a small part of the whole? Does that resonate with you? Or perhaps a different word?"

"I think I was... unmade," Newt says slowly, trying to describe the feeling of having your mind pulled apart, dissected, and rearranged into something you no longer recognize as yourself.

"So, not only are you feeling the weight of guilt, but also the trauma of being unmade. Can I tell you something?"

"Yeah?"

Dr. Ayoade shifts in her seat, drumming her fingers on her knee. "Your circumstance are very unique, yes. But I specialized in trauma, and 'unmade' is a word I often hear clients who've suffered long-term abuse and loss of agency. I'm not telling you this to downplay what you've gone through, because no one should ever have to experience what you have."

_Kind eyes_ , Newt thinks, finally meeting her gaze. _That's what they are._

Dr. Ayoade continues. "I'm telling you this to help you understand that this experience doesn’t have to define your future. It will always affect you going forward, yes, but people are capable of resilience despite the most horrific circumstances. So, Newt, I think you can recover from this, if you put the work in, if you’re willing to dig into what you’re feeling and what this trauma means to your sense of self.”

“You tell that to all your hopeless cases, Doc?” Newt asks.

Dr. Ayoade smiles. “You don't have to believe me today, or tomorrow, or next week, or next month. It's very rare that people believe me the first time I say recovery is possible. But I'll keep repeating it as long as you need me to, until you believe it yourself."

"You're right," Newt says, smiling bitterly. "I don't believe you."

Dr. Ayoade nods. "And your doubt is completely understandable, considering what you've been through. My job isn't to lecture you or browbeat you into agreement. You don't believe me, Newt, and I won't try to force you to. That's the point of this, you're in control. Because control is something you haven't had a lot of, right? So here are some things you get control of: whether you believe what I've said today, whether you want to come back again next time, what we talk about, and whatever you're ready to talk about that day. I cede all control of that to you."

Newt looks at her, tilts his head a bit. She's returning his gaze, patience in her expression, no anticipation that he'll respond. No expectations. No demands. He's in control of what comes next.

"Okay." Newt says. "See you next time. Maybe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to therapy!
> 
> (And yes, in this universe Monique is Richard Ayoade's niece, because I'm never going to stop loving the IT Crowd.)


	23. Set You Free: Chapter 3

They've set Illia up in a nice little space. It’s made up of a cozy looking bedroom, a slightly-too-small-to-be-comfortable ensuite bathroom, and an attached living room. The living room isn’t much bigger than the bedroom, but there's a couch, some bookshelves, a little coffee table, and an armchair. The bookshelves are bare but for the long row of tattered old journals, lined up for easy perusal by Hermann and Illia when they were searching for clues to the drift memories.

“Why do you get a whole fucking suite and I get the fucking Harry Potter closet at the end of the hall?” Newt asks as they enter the living room.

"Perks of being a guest instead of a permanent resident," Illia says to Newt. “Or under PPDC custody.”

Newt flops down onto the couch, full-body, bag-of-rocks style. One arm comes up over his eyes, the other arm hanging limply off the side. He’s winding up for an outburst. Here’s the pitch, there’s the swing… and it’s a hit!

"I've been awake for four hours and I need a nap already. Talking about shit you don't want to sucks the energy right out of a guy. Actually, maybe I’m just antsy. Hermann needs to get out of the damn lab and take me somewhere more interesting. Yanno, since you have no clearances for any of the cool parts of the Shatterdome. Can I also just say that this whole 'take away Newt's internet and any connection to the outside world' stuff is bullshit? I should at least be able to do some shitposting on the Driftology forums, rub it in their faces that hivemind theory is scientifically proven. Where's the evidence, you ask? _Boom_ , my brain scans, bitches. That's what. Those assholes are almost as bad as Redd-"

"You know,” Illia says, tagging him out, “for a man who needs a nap, you sure don't shut up much."

Newt moves his arm to see Illia sitting in the armchair in the corner, looking through a paper printout of all the top stories on his preferred news sites. Look at him, sitting there quietly, _enjoying_ Newt’s slow spiral into non-possessed insanity. And murdering trees while doing it.

"I'm _booooored_." Newt shoots back.

Illia snorts. "You know what? I just flashed back to 2005. Teenage Newt is speaking. Nope, wait, you don't have a mohawk. Can't be."

Newt smirks, he can’t help it. "Thanks for the reminder about my terrible fashion choices, uncle. I'll have you know I'm pretty fly for a white guy nowadays."

"Those ridiculous tattoos beg to differ," Illia replies, not looking up from the papers. His tone is teasing, and he's always teased Newt about his body art, but in a gentle, ribbing sort of way, as a parent voicing disagreement while acknowledging their child's right to autonomy. "Do you have any skin left you haven't taken a needle to?"

"Dude, this gorgeous face, obviously. Also, I mean, my legs make me look like a Wookie and I am not shaving them for the extra real estate."

"Ah, Newton. At least the lip ring is gone. And the eyebrow bar."

"I've still got a few of the ear holes," Newt says, shifting and pulling his legs up. "Wonder how Hermann would react if I popped some studs in there."

Illia knits his brows and turns a page. "That's between you and him, and not a discussion I want to be a part of."

There's a knock at the door. Newt lifts his head as Illia sets down his papers and gets up to go answer it. When he comes back, Lambert is behind him, dressed in a plain white t-shirt, damp with sweat around the edges.

"I need to talk to you, Dr. Geiszler," Lambert says glancing at Illia, "privately, if possible."

Illia shrugs. "Not a problem. I'll be in the bedroom then."

Newt shifts his legs and sits up as Illia walks out, shutting the door between the living and bedroom behind him.

"Looking a little damp there, Ranger," Newt says.

Lambert shrugs. "I was out for a jog with Jake. He got competitive, and I wasn't about to let him show me up."

"Hmmm, definitely the Chandler..."

"What?"

"Nothing. Forget I said anything. What do you want?"

Lambert gives Newt a funny look but doesn't inquire further. He skips the couch entirely, sitting on the edge of the coffee table, hands clasped in his lap.

"Now that you're back to 'yourself' again, whatever that is, we need to discuss some… _things_.” Lambert shifts back and forth, like a cat ready to spring. “There are some pieces of the story missing on your side, and on mine, and we need to get them straight."

Lambert looks rather serious, which according to Hermann, isn't too out of the ordinary, but there's something in his tone. An urgency.

Newt blinks, then twirls his fingers. "Uh, I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm gonna need more context here."

Lambert drops his face into his hands, blowing a harsh exhalation of air through his fingers, which, really, _kids_ these days. After letting it all out, he looks back up. "Alright. First off, do you understand how many strings I had to pull to keep you here?"

"Apparently not, since you're rubbing it in my face." Newt doesn’t need the patronizing bullshit right now, thanks so much.

"That's not what I'm-” Lambert takes another breath, shakes his head. “Look, Dr. Geiszler. I was the one to apprehend you. I took a transport, subdued you, and then picked up Jake and Amara. By the time we got back to the Shatterdome, there were about fifteen PPDC JACRO officers on the flight deck, demanding we turn you over to their custody."

Newt swallows. His stomach just took a fifteen-story tumble into ‘oh-fuck-me-I’m-so-fucked’ land.

"Shit,” Newt says. “Jackers? Seriously?"

The PPDC, in addition to funding anti-Kaiju defenses, is also in the business of preventing Precursor or Jaeger tech from falling into the hands of anyone outside their select group of contractors. Kaiju parts and Jaeger wrecks are often snatched up by civvies, and the Jaeger and Alien Contraband Retrieval Office, or JACRO (and ‘Jackers’ to those who purposefully mangle their acronym out of dislike) are the enforcement arm of the PPDC. They’re notorious for aggressive (and what some might call inhumane, Newt included) methods of cracking down on part traders, smugglers, and anyone operating illegal Jaegers. They're also directly under the council's control, and supposedly council members will use them for their own purposes.

"Why the hell would they try to claim jurisdiction?" Newt asks.

"That's exactly what I thought when I saw them," Lambert continues. "Technically as the creator of thousands of pieces of Precursor infected tech, they might have had some claim over interrogating you as to the location of any more caches we didn't know about. But you're _also_ the first Precursor-infected human, so you basically fall under the military's definition of a Kaiju, which is squarely the Jaeger division's territory."

Newt can’t help but grin at that. "So then, what happened?"

"I had Jake put you in a cell and then spent six hours in conference calls with everyone from the head of JACRO, to members of the PPDC council. I told them that the most beneficial option was to allow Dr. Gottlieb to try and cure you so that you might provide us some information on the precursors. Frankly, I'm still not sure I made the right choice, but something about how fast JACRO showed up to try and claim you... it felt off. Anyway, the council members went back and forth but the side supporting us won out, and you were allowed to stay."

"Well, thanks for that," Newt says. "But I'm assuming that's not the end of it."

Lambert shakes his head, drums his fingers on his knee. He looks like he's trying to put together what to say next. "Ever since then, things have been getting weird. More inspections, more administrative oversight, JACRO officers coming in to question my people about you. Demanding Dr. Pitafi's data. Technically, she's a contractor, hired through our internal research institute, and has no obligation to release her research until such a time where she chooses to publish. I've upped our security around the labs and made Dr. Pitafi aware. I told Dr. Gottlieb to be careful about who he speaks around, but I've got a feeling he's already been doing that. And all the cadets are under strict orders to not discuss anything they know about this situation."

Newt chews on his lower lip, thinking. It's not surprising at all that the PPDC admin are interested in him. But the Shatterdome and everything in it are part of the PPDC anyway. You'd think they would trust their own people to keep them updated on anything important. Unless...

"They're looking for something specific," Newt says. "Hold on." He gets up, goes to the bookshelf, and tugs out a particularly massive tome, a dictionary. When he opens it, there's a small file tucked inside, and in that file is a printout of all the data Liwen gave to him on the tablet. He's made a backup, several in fact, or rather, Illia was nice enough to go off-base and find an office supply shop to make the copies. Internal paper trails are too dangerous.

"What the hell is this?" Lambert asks when he takes the papers from Newt. He flips through them, skimming, and Newt really hopes his intuition is right, that Lambert is a friend here, not someone who'd betray him. _Hermann trusts Pentecost, and Pentecost seems to trust him._

"Data on my email records. I was emailing someone in the LA Shatterdome a few years ago, but I don't know who. The emails go for about seven months, then taper off. I can't remember anything about that period though, Nate." This seems like a first name conversation at this point. "I was doing something, and the fuck if I know what."

Nate nods. "And the council operates out of there. Maybe you were talking to one of them. About what, though? You'd left K-Science long before this point."

"And Hermann was in Nagasaki. Raleigh, maybe? Wasn't he stationed there for a few years?"

"Hmmm, not sure if it was this time period, but I can find out. Jake and he talk regularly."

"They do? Yeah, I, uh, I guess that makes sense."

Nate raises an eyebrow. "I can put you in contact with him if you'd like. Although I'm sure Dr. Gottlieb knows how to reach him."

"I'll ask Hermann, then," Newt says, nodding his head. Thinking of Raleigh makes him think of the past, K-Science, and all the people he's been out of contact with. He's missed Hermann the most, but Raleigh, Tendo, Herc... he needs to talk to them, if only to apologize, let them know how sorry he is. For Mako.

If they don't already hate him.

"This is good information... Newt," Nate says. "Thank you for sharing it. I think something fishy is going on. Whatever you think happened with the hivemind isn't the whole story."

“Yeah, I’m starting to get the idea that, like Jon Snow, I know absolutely jack shit,” Newt says. “Anything else?”

Nate nods. “There’s another reason I came to talk to you. Someone spilled the beans you were finally awake, and I've been getting calls from council members. They're sending people to question us officially, on the record, about everything leading up to the MegaTokyo attack involving you. That's probably going to mean sitting down with someone yourself, and what you say could make or break your chances. Because I can guarantee, with the rumblings I've been hearing... you're going to be tried for this. Whether it was your fault or not, there's going to be a trial. A lot of people died, and someone usually has to pay for that."

"Yeah, I kinda already figured that out, thanks for the pep talk." Well, at least somebody else acknowledged the reality of the situation because Hermann is head over heels in Denial City and Newt can’t talk about this shit with Illia. So, the outreach by Nate is genuinely appreciated.

"Think about getting yourself some counsel," Nate says. "Lay low here, don't wander too much. If you need people to go out and ask questions or gather info, let me or Jake know. Reyes too, she'll help. Just start preparing now. I can only do so much to keep them off our backs." He holds up the folder. "Can I keep this? I promise to keep it safe."

"Go ahead," Newt says. "I've got back-ups on back-ups."

"Alright. Thanks. I’ll let you get back to… whatever you were doing." Nate slides up off the table, stretching up his arms, cracking his back, and Newt sees a touch of stomach, smooth, hard muscle, as his shirt lifts. _Alright there, Pentecost, I can see the appeal. A little too macho man and not enough tweed for my tastes, but you do you._

"Hey, Nate... why are you all helping me?" Newt asks as Nate lowers his arms. "You, Jake, Reyes, even Hadiyya seems like she wants to. I mean, hivemind or not, the choices I made caused this. People you know died 'cause I went too far."

Nate regards him for a moment, and Newt can't help but shift a bit under his measuring stare.

"Mako used to talk about you and Dr. Gottlieb," he says. "One of the things she told me once was that you both never let her feel alone, like she didn't have a family. The senior Pentecost couldn't always look after her, but she said you both would. Making her feel loved was something you never disagreed on.”

“No,” Newt says. “She kept us grounded. Made us remember the real stakes of that war.”

Nate nods. “Well, that's the attitude she helped instill in this place when she ran the Jaeger program, and it's what makes the Jaeger pilots as amazing of a team as we are. We're a family." He shrugs. "And you were her family. If I didn't help protect Mako's family, then I'd be doing her memory a disservice. We all would."

"Jesus..." Newt swallows, fiddles with his glasses. "I, uh... yeah. Thanks."

Nate pats Newt’s shoulder on the way out. "Let us know what you need. Or if any trouble comes sniffing around."

Illia comes back into the room after Nate leaves. "You've gone pale," he says, sitting next to Newt. "Is everything alright?"

Newt bites his lip, eyes traveling up towards the ceiling as he considers what he knows. "Uncle, when did I stop writing you? Like, I know I've never been great, but when did I actually stop contacting you?"

"Hmmm..." Illia taps a thumb against his lower lip, eyes joining Newt’s as they climb upwards in a thoughtful repose. It runs in the family. "I guess... sometime around 2028? Why?"

"The last letter I remember sending you was the Christmas card in 2026. That's two years of letters I can't remember, but it doesn't make sense. I knew the hivemind was taking over, but I didn't start losing memories until about three years ago.” Newt frowns. “At least, I thought I hadn't. Now Liwen says I was emailing someone I have no memory of, and you're saying I'm missing two years of our correspondence. So, what else am I missing?"

"Why don't I have the woman I'm paying to care for the house collect your letters and scan them to us?" Illia suggests. "Maybe something will jog your memory."

"Yeah, okay. But same procedure as the tablet data, printouts offsite. Something isn't making sense."

"Discuss it with Hermann," Illia suggests, patting his shoulder. "He's been a part of the PPDC the whole time, maybe he knows something. Now, lunch? The cafeteria is serving penne a la vodka, and I just stocked up on antacid tablets."

"You go on ahead," Newt says, pulling another book out from under the coffee tablet, another file hidden in its pages. "I want to take another look at these."

Illia doesn’t shift. "Eh, Newt, can't really do that, kiddo."

"What- shit." Newt remembers the ankle bracelet, that stupid piece of tech that means he's still a prisoner, no matter if the chair or the cell is gone. "Right... Nate said I should lay low."

"I'll ask someone to bring us some, then," Illia says. There's an old-school land line phone attached to the wall, and he picks up the receiver. "Er... you know anybody on this base I can call?"

Newt sighs and smiles. "If the old extensions still work, then yeah. Give me that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of plot for you all :)


	24. Set You Free: Chapter 4

Hermann looks exhausted when he gets back from work, so Newt holds off on all the wild theories and exclamations he's come up with about the PPDC emails. Instead, once Illia has gone from Hermann's room (well now it's _their_ room, isn't it? Fuckin' sweet!), Newt finds himself being pushed back towards the bed, then down onto it. Hermann wraps around him, coiled like a snake, face pressed into Newt's neck.

"Hey, uh, you okay, babe?" Newt asks. Hermann makes a noise, and Newt really can't interpret that shit as positive or negative, but for the last several hours, he's felt this sense of weariness and worry across the drift bond. He's getting used to that weird feeling of Hermann in the back of his mind, and he tried to send a sense of questioning to Hermann earlier, but didn't get any sort of response. "Look, I need you to use some words, we haven't reached a 'psychic twins' level yet, and I hope to god we never do because I can only take so much of your snobbish prattling and lecturing in real life, and having it in my head, well, you'd make good competition for the hivemind."

Hermann snorts against his neck. "Did you really just compare my at-times-overzealous protective love for you to a screaming mass of alien consciousnesses bent on our destruction?"

"Yup, yeah. Sounds about right. If it helps, you could interpret it as me saying you have a massive intellect that I can't handle. Like, that's _obviously_ not what I said, but, y'know, if you wanna go that route- oww! Did you just punch me in the gut? Really, dude?"

Hermann smirks. "Clearly that was the hivemind, acting through me, now that we're both linked to it."

Newt wrinkles his nose in disgust. "Don't even joke about that, dude."

"Apologies." Hermann lifts his head and meets Newt's eyes. "Today was rather... long. I dealt with some rather unwanted issues that I fear won't be going away any time soon."

"Like?"

"I'd rather not talk about it." Hermann leans up and kisses him, and that's not fair, because that's the secret to getting Newt to shut up for a little while. Newt kisses him back anyway. He should've kissed Hermann that night back at the Shatterdome, right after Raleigh and Mako closed the breach. Hermann had scooted over as they watched the comms with Tendo, and Hermann had looked at him, lips perking with joy and pride in what they'd done, and Newt had realized that very second how wonderful it would be to kiss that twitchy, snarky, brilliant man, to reach up and just drag him down into the inevitable next step of their relationship. He'd settled for the arm over the shoulder, Hermann's side pressed to his own, knowing they'd have time later to talk. How could he have known just how bad the talk would go? So, Newt kisses Hermann now, because it's one of so many damn things to catch up on.

"How was your day," Herman mumbles as Newt twists to kneel above him. "How was therapy?"

"Therapeutic," Newt replies, grinning at the _really?_ look Hermann shoots his way. "It was good, Herm. You have good ideas occasionally."

"Constantly, Newton. The word you're looking for is constantly."

"Mmmm, I don't know, that doesn't sound like the word I'm looking for. Hold still."

Newt slips his fingers underneath the top button on Hermann's shirt. He pops it open with a flick of the wrist, and then moves on to the second one. He continues down, and he can see Hermann watching his hands, so he slows down a tad, because he knows Hermann, who always used to make comments about Newt's lack of care, lack of precision. Now Newt is precise, exacting in how slowly he dips a thumb underneath the next button, catching the edge with his nail and pulling it back, while his other thumb pushes the fabric up and over the end to pop the button out of its hole. By the time Newt has reached the last button, Hermann's breathing has heightened, and his lower lip juts out a little farther than normal. His eyes flick from the last button up to Newt's face, looking up through his lashes, and Newt wants to dive down, catch that lip between his teeth, pin Hermann's wrists to the bed and... what's the word he needs now... _ravish_. Man, how did that word even get into his brain?

Instead of the aforementioned ravishing, he slips his thumbs underneath either side of Hermann's button-down and slides them apart to reveal the grey t-shirt underneath. _Control, control_ , he thinks, closing his eyes, breathing in and letting his hands skim down to the edge of the t-shirt. There's warmth seeping from beneath it, Hermann's breathing getting louder as his index finger nudges the fabric upwards. The buzzing is starting up again, growing louder as a certain other body part of Newt's swells to life. _Fuckin' Christ, gotta breathe, gotta count..._

"Newton...?" Hermann's voice is hoarse, tinged with lust and uncertainty. It's an annoyingly attractive combination; Hermann clearly wants him, but also, Newt isn't being predictable. He hates being predictable, why be predictable when you can surprise somebody? Within reason, of course. "Newton, I know I said I preferred to avoid intercourse until after our next drift, but I am not quite sure the thoughts I'm currently having agree with that."

Newton smiles, the world still dark around him, but his hands are blazing with the heat of Hermann's skin as his palms meet Hermann's stomach, his ears are filled with the gasp Hermann makes upon this touch, his tongue is heavy with the taste of desire to just lick, like, every single inch of this man like he's a goddamn ice cream cone. He slides a hand lower, underneath the hem of Hermann's slacks. His knuckles brush soft curls of hair, and he realizes that he never really got to touch Hermann like this last night.

"Hermann, honey bun, let me tell you something." Newt dips his thumb lower and feels the wet, fat head of Hermann's cock. "When the damn Precursors are finally out of my head, I am fucking you against every available surface of this bunk. We are not leaving this room for _days_. We've got so, so much time to make up for."

Hermann's moan as Newt grips his cock is a deep, thrumming sound that strikes Newt in the base of his balls, squeezing hard. He stops for a minute, sucking in and pushing out oxygen, forcing the numbers through his brain, letting them stomp over the buzzing. The count is good, the count is just another way he gets control back; leave it to Hermann to give him something mathematical to aid him. He uses the count as a guide for his hand, stroking up and down in rhythm with the numbers. Hermann bucks up a bit, practically wheezing with desire; it's adorable and fucking hot at the same time.

"Bloody _Christ!_ " Hermann gasps, when Newt presses his fingers against the veiny underside of Hermann's cock and drags upward. "Where did you learn a thing like that... ahhh...?"

"I watched a lot of hentai as a horny teenager and had a lot of time to myself. I developed some techniques."

"You've, you've made your predilections for Japanese pornography very apparent, yes."

"Not the point I'm making, Einstein."

Hermann gasps again and grabs Newt 'round the back of the neck, dragging him down till their foreheads meet. "Fuck the point, Newt."

Newt shivers, licking his lower lip, eyes wide and sharply focused. "God, you cursing is such a fucking turn on. Like, it feels so dirty, especially when you say fuck."

"Really?" A little grin flickers across Hermann's mouth. "S-so, _nnnghh_... then why don't you just _f-fuck_ me already..."

Newt groans and drops his face to Hermann's shoulder. "Stop it, dude. You're supposed to be the responsible one here." His hand hasn't stopped moving, but he keeps his other hand at his side, doesn't try to free his own aching dick. The fucking bullshit buzzing is still there, why is it still there? Why can't they just fuck like normal people without worrying about an evil Borg-like entity taking over his body? Well, at least he gets to listen, hear Hermann make all sorts of tasty, undignified noises, feel him wiggle and thrash around between Newt's legs.

Hermann reaches a hand down, but Newt smacks it and then pins his wrist to the bed. "I just wanna watch you," Newt says, kissing and nipping and sucking at the join of Hermann's neck and shoulder. It's a tender, choice bit of skin that he's going to leave a hickey on, no question, because if he can't have Hermann 'in the marital way' or whatever the antiquated heteronormative turn of phrase is, he's still gonna mark his damn territory. _Posessed and posessive, that's me_ , he thinks. _Hermann sure picked a winner_.

Maybe that thought would make him depressed if Hermann wasn't literally gasping his name and continually begging to be fucked.

"Such language," Newt chides, chuckling. "Never knew you had it in you, Herm."

"I am n-not some sexless stereotype, Newt... I contain multitudes."

" _Woof_ , pulling out the Whitman mid-hand job, and a queer poet to boot, nice touch."

Hermann flashes him a grin, only to slam his head back a moment later and let out a cry as Newt's hand finally works its magic trick and gets Hermann's dick to explode. Metaphorically. But literally with an orgasm. Newt watches him come apart; Hermann undone is, well, a hot damn mess, emphasis on the _hot_. His face loses the last bit of what could be called composure, eternal frown slackening into a look of pure bliss.

"Hot damn," Newt breathes, stroking his hair afterwards. "The drift can't beat that."

"Shall, shall I...?" Hermann pants, face and visible chest burnished red with exertion as he tries to slide a hand down again. Newt catches his wrist more gently this time, shaking his head and kissing his knuckles.

"No, I'm fine. I liked watching you. You're always so fucking uptight, sometimes it's just nice to see you unwind." He grins. "Besides, I think one hand job definitely makes up for you risking your life on several occasions to save me from the hivemind. Now we're even, yeah?"

"You are incorrigible." Hermann lifts his head to catch Newt's lips in a soft, slow, yearning sort of kiss, one that threatens to make Newt go back on turning Hermann's offer down. "It's horribly endearing."

"Well, now that you're all chilled out max, relaxing all cool, we need to talk. Not about us, about me." Newt slides down and rests his head on Hermann's shoulder.

"A subject in which I am thoroughly versed," Hermann mumbles, pressing a kiss to his hair. "What about you?"

Newt relates the conversation he had earlier with Nate, about the council's interference with the Jaeger division's custody of Newt. He explains the missing memories of contact with Illia, and the missing time and email documentation that Liwen presented him with.

"Why are you just telling me about all of this now?" Hermann's relaxed expression has turned worried. "You've known about Liwen's data for days."

"I know, I'm sorry. I wanted to have more information for you than just some random emails I sent half a decade ago. Even what I've got is just coincidental."

Hermann presses the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, eyes clenched shut. "I don't give a damn if it doesn't seem important, Newt. I need to know everything. The chances of all these being random happenstance decrease dramatically with every new bit of datum."

"Dude, I know what a working theory and correlation and causation are, thank you, I have six fucking degrees to prove it."

"Then use some of those critical thinking skills it took to earn those, would you? We are scrambling blindly about in the darkness, and you've found some sources of light and choose to not immediately share them?"

"I'm _sorry_ , okay? Fucking hell, Hermann. We just had some pretty awesome sex and you wanna start a fight now?" Fuck, he's getting mad, and there's the buzzing, right on cue... _Deep breaths, Newt, it's not in charge here._

"I want you to communicate, Newt!" Hermann grabs his shoulders, shakes him a bit, ruining his attempt at calm. "Your lack thereof in the past has put us at this point!"

"There it is. There's the blame I was looking for." _Everybody knows it,_ Newt thinks as he jerks back. _He can say it's not my fault all he wants, but it doesn't change the reality._

Newt watches the color drain away from Hermann's face, sees him reach out for Newt. "I'm- I'm sorry, that was not how I wished to-"

"No, fuck it," Newt says, sliding off the bed. "You just finally said what you needed to. I caused all of this, right? Who the hell would think otherwise?"

"I would!" Hermann lunges forward, grabbing his wrist. "Newton, I was entirely truthful when I said I didn't blame you for what's happened. But..."

"But what?"

"I was also not lying when I stated that I was furious with you."

"You're not making sense, that's usually my area of expertise."

"Bloody hell, Newt..." Hermann tugs on his wrist. "Please come here?" His eyes are pleading in a way that's so unfair, so goddamn unfair, but he's going to owe Hermann forever anyway, so he goes and sits back down. And then he gets grabbed and pulled tight to Hermann's chest.

"Are you trying to suffocate the guilt out of me?" Newt mumbles against his shirt. "It's not working."

"Listen here. I will never blame you for what occurred because of the Precursors. But... it hurt to be away from you for so long, and it hurts in an entirely different way to know how much time we lost because we just didn't talk about what we were to one another." Hermann is stroking his hair, fingers threading gently through, a pleasant tingle on his scalp, and the buzzing has faded away.

"I'm sorry. I, I just thought you'd rejected me."

"Newton Geiszler, did you think so poorly of me that you thought I would ignore ten years of friendship over an ill-directed note?" He presses his thumb into the back of Newt's neck and rubs, and Newt lets out an embarrassingly pleased sound. Hermann continues. "It was not ill-directed, anyhow, but if it had been, what made you think me the type of person to reject you thoroughly and completely?"

Newt shakes his head. "Of course, I don't think that. Idiots who don't know you might think that, not me."

"Then why, Newt? I don't bloody understand it."

Newt pulls back a bit, so he can meet Hermann's eyes. "It wouldn't have been the same for me, dude. Knowing I'd told you how I felt, knowing you didn't feel the same and having to still work next to you every day? I wouldn't have been able to fucking stand it. I would've lost my mind, being near you all the time but not being able to be with you... you meant the world to me, Hermann. You still _mean_ the world to me now."

Hermann's eyes are shining, and they hurt to look at, so it's a relief when he cups Newt's face and swoops in for another kiss. They roll, and Newt finds himself underneath this time, Hermann peppering his face with kisses, on his nose, eyelids, cheekbones, down his jaw, wispy nothingness of touch that are just enough to make Newt's spine tingle. He shivers and squirms, but Hermann won't let him pull away, forehead to forehead, his lips ghosting against Newt's cheek, murmured whispers of "dear man" and "beloved" and _mein Schatz_ , and after a while, just _mein_. He's such a damn sap, Newt had no idea how bad he could get, a mathematician whose analytic, self-serious demeanor breaks down into cutesy romanticism whenever Newt becomes his focus. _It's enough to make a guy blush_ , Newt thinks, finding that he's already doing it. Damn it. So not bad-ass. Oh well.

"I'll talk to Raleigh," Hermann says a while later, when they've gone back to spooning (Newt is the Little Spoon, he is always going to be the Little Spoon, Hermann refuses to even allow him to pretend to exhibit Big Spoon tendencies). "I'm sure he remembers something that could help us."

"Yeah, or he'll tell us to fuck off. What if he blames me for Mako? I blame me for Mako."

"He won't, and you shouldn't," Hermann says, kissing the back of his neck. "Raleigh isn't the sort of man to view things on a surface level. He knows what the Precursors are capable of, and he knows you enough to know you're incapable of that sort of cruelty."

"You're making a lot of assumptions here, dude."

"No more than you are, dear. Now please hush. I'd just like to hold you for a while."

"Such a sap," Newt mutters. But he doesn't say anything else, and he's certainly not complaining about being held.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: sexually explicit scenes
> 
> Posting may slow down for a bit in the next few weeks. I've got some hellish deadlines for school, and I don't want to throw out dreck just to stick to a schedule. I promise it's all still coming, just like Hermann was this chapter ;)


	25. Set You Free: Chapter 5

Newt asked Hermann to find a private spot to talk to Raleigh. Something off base, out of the way, where he won’t be noticed and won’t have to worry about the potential for snooping on the communication line. Hermann humors him and slips away on a dinner break, taking the subway to a little cyber cafe in the Boneslums that's crowded with European ex-pats and tourists, a perfect spot for him to blend in.

He orders an herbal tea, sits in a corner booth, and turns on the tablet Newt gave him. It's the one from Liwen, so there’s no trace of PPDC software on it. Hermann had tinkered with the OS to make sure it wouldn't be transmitting anything to Shao. He’s also installed a VPN to scramble any of the IP data, just as an extra precaution. One can never be too careful with cybersecurity, though Newt’s clear lack of doing so may be the thing that saves him, in the end. How very ironic.

When his tea arrives, he signs into SeeU, an anonymous video chat website, and sends the link to the agreed upon burner email address that Raleigh had texted him. Then he waits, sipping the tea. The rainy season has begun in full force in the city, and there’s a chill breeze that flutters into the café every time a patron opens the door. The rain is a steady pounding rhythm on the roof, and in the neon reflections of signage through the windows, Hermann recalls the past. Remembers Newt’s face drenched in glowing blue tones as he rammed a probe as big as his frame into a Kaiju baby’s skull. Remembers the twisting fear in his own gut, knowing what Newt planned to do, the resolve to join him settling there, as if there were ever another choice for him.

A few minutes later, the call goes through with a cheery _ping!_ Raleigh's face pops up on the screen, shadowed in amber light. Hermann hasn't been close to the man in at least two or three years. The lines on his forehead have gotten deeper, he's sporting a thick growth of stubble, and he just looks... tired. All the youthful energy Hermann remembers drained out of him. It’s not a hard guess as to why.

"Hermann," Raleigh says, lips quirking in a half smile. "I really don't get why we've got all this secrecy."

"Apologies, Raleigh, but this requires some measure of discretion. Did you find a private location?" Hermann asks.

"Yeah, LA has a lot of bars and not a lot of people are in them at eight in the morning. At least, not a lot of competent ones who’ll remember me stopping in."

"Alright. I trust your judgement, I suppose." He was always the more reckless of the pair.

Raleigh rolls his eyes, the camera shaking a bit as he shifts in his seat. Hermann catches a glance over his shoulder at an empty bar, brick walls covered in pictures, an Italian flag, and a neon shamrock, the edge of a pool table peeking into view. "Thanks for the confidence. Can you explain the secrecy now?"

"Yes, well... I wanted to apologize, first," Hermann says, twitching as he clinks the teacup on the saucer a bit too loud, avoiding the stares of people swiveling their heads. "I know you were at Mako's funeral and I should've come to speak with you. But I, well... I couldn't build up the nerve."

The military funeral had been a grand, showy affair, and Hermann had hated every minute of it. It had precisely zero respect for both Japanese tradition, and for the life of the woman herself, from the pompous councilors delivering eulogies where they bloviated upon their profound respect for Mako, while in the past having constantly belittled her leadership capabilities, to the long processional march through the streets of what remained of MegaTokyo, when Hermann knew she clearly would’ve preferred a small ceremony in Tanegashima with close friends. It was where she would eventually be buried anyway, once the PPDC got done with their theatrics.

Raleigh had looked… so utterly lost. He didn’t speak, marched silently with the rest of the crowd of PPDC officials, saluted the coffin, but Hermann saw his hands trembling at his sides, the broken devastation behind his eyes, and, well. Hermann tried to avoid moments of pure cowardice, but on that day, he could not force himself to approach for fear of them both losing what little control they’d managed to summon up.

"You were too nervous to talk to me?" Raleigh's expression has clouded over, and Hermann hates that he's reminded Raleigh of Mako, because what a bloody awful way to start a conversation. But he needs to get this out.

"I- yes. I couldn't help feeling as if I'd let her down. And in doing that, let you down."

"Why would you think you'd let me down?"

"Newton..." Hermann sips the tea to push away the knot in his stomach, but it's a piss poor distraction. "I felt as though, if I had known, if I had only reached out to him, I could've stopped it. He tried to warn me, I think. Asked me to meet his bloody kaiju brain. Maybe if I had taken him up on it, I could've gotten him help, and Sydney would've never happened. Mako would still-"

"Don't." Raleigh's face is stone, unbroken stone, but his eyes are shimmering liquid. "Mako would've chewed your ass out if she'd heard you talking like that. You think I didn't have the same thoughts when Yancy died? Or when I heard she-" He stops, rubs a hand across his face. "What's done is done, Hermann. I can't change it, you can't change it. Just tell me what's going on."

"Alright. Well, I suppose you already know some of what went on in the Shao headquarters..."

He starts with the drifts. Figuring out the modified PONs, the distorted memories, the hivemind connection. Fixing the memories, Newt coming back to himself. The missing memories, the flight records, the mysterious emails. It would all be the makings of a ripping good mystery novel, if it wasn't happening to him, threatening to destroy the happiness with Newt he'd finally found.

Raleigh looks thoughtful when he's done and doesn't say anything for a few minutes. Then, finally:

"He never told you he was coming here?"

"He- what?" Hermann clatters the cup against the saucer, louder this time, and ducks his head when several patrons glance over. _Drat, so much for keeping a low profile._ “What in blazes are you talking about?”

"Dr. Geiszler was here quite a few times back in 2027," Raleigh says. "I saw him on the base, off and on. We chatted, had meals together sometimes. He said he was working on a project but wouldn't say what. I thought it was kinda weird since he'd gone to work for Shao, but it really wasn't my business, and I was too busy with the new recruits."

"Newton was _there?_ I had no idea. Our communication by that point was… minimal."

The first six months after Hong Kong, Hermann’s emails had gone unanswered. He’d sent one every few weeks, simple questions, _how are you doing? What are you working on? What sort of set up have they given you? Have you found anyone else who can put up with your inane babbling and horrid safety protocols as well as me?_ Underlying messages went unsaid, typed out and erased a dozen times, but never sent. _I miss you. I didn’t know I needed you until you were gone. I’m afraid you’ve found someone to take my place._

Then suddenly, his emails returned with scattered, short replies. _I’m okay. Shanghai is nothing like Hong Kong. I’m working on really cool shit, you’re gonna be shocked when you see it._ Barely answers, but enough to whet Hermann’s hope. _Liwen is even more of a stickler for protocol than you and that’s saying something. I think you’d enjoy watching her chew me out. How is Nagasaki? Did you see the cherry blossoms bloom? Do they even have cherry blossoms in Nagasaki? I’ve never seen them in person. I’d like to._

They went back and forth like this for a while, and then… nothing. Hermann very clearly remembers replying to that last query. _You should consider taking a trip to see them. I’d be happy to be your tour guide._ That was some time in February 2027. It went unanswered. Anything subsequent he sent was met with silence, until one day he’d sent a simple, _how are you?_ Back to square one, and he’d gotten an automated reply. _THIS EMAIL ADDRESS HAS BEEN DEACTIVATED._

"The flight records make sense, then," Raleigh continues. "Ms. Shao must've not known what he was up to. I don't ever remember hearing anyone else talk about his project, either. And as far as I know, nothing came of it. He just stopped showing up after about a year or so."

"So, he was there, but you haven't the foggiest clue as to why?"

"Yep. I'm sorry, Hermann, I thought you knew. I didn't know you'd had a falling out." Raleigh frowns. "He talked about you all the time. Told me what you were up to, projects you were working on. You know, the last time I saw him, he said he was planning on making a trip to see you soon.”

"He did? When was this?”

“Er… sometime around August or September?” Raleigh shrugs. “I can’t remember exactly.”

So, Newt had received his email, stopped replying for six months, and suddenly had decided out of the blue that he was going to take Hermann up on his offer? It makes no bloody sense.

He says so to Raleigh. "None of this makes bloody sense!”

Raleigh nods. “You’re not kidding me. But listen, I've been hearing some rumors coming down the pipeline. People who used to work in Hong Kong getting pulled aside here, getting interrogated. Lots of activity with JACRO involvement. Dr. Geiszler's name comes up a lot. Hermann, tell me honestly, do you think he knew what he was doing?"

"No!" Hermann realizes how his voice has leapt up and pushes it back down. "No, Raleigh. I promise you. We're bloody well drift bonded at this point, and I can feel him." He presses a hand to his chest. "Every time anything about MegaTokyo, or turning on me, or Mako, any time that comes up, all I feel is pain from him, and despair. It's... you had it with Mako, didn't you? You know what it's like, to know someone's mind and heart so deeply."

Raleigh goes a touch pale, before nodding somberly. "And you're sure?"

"He didn't know. I give you my word, whatever that's worth to you. Newt is a good man, and whatever happened was because he was trying to protect people, not hurt them." He remembers Newt's hand around his neck, the misery in his eyes, his cracked, broken words. _I'm sorry, Hermann. They're in my head._ Through the haze of suffocation, all Hermann wanted was to comfort him, and he remembers stroking his thumb against Newt's hand, as if to say, _it's alright, I know you don't mean it, I know this isn't you._

"Then I'll do what I can to help," Raleigh says. "You said there were emails sent to someone on this base. Can you transmit me the data? Shao's records might be incomplete, but the PPDC is a bureaucracy, and they love storing teraflops of useless old data. I might be able to dig something up, even if it's just the email addresses they were using. And if I hear that anyone is trying to make a move, I'll let you know. Just keep in mind, the council is made up of a lot of different factions, all vying against each other for more power and influence. If someone is pushing to make Dr. Geiszler take the fall for everything, finding allies on the council might be a good idea."

"You're not suggesting..." Oh. Oh _no._ He can't possibly be suggesting that.

"I'm definitely suggesting that," Raleigh responds, giving him a very pointed look. "I know you don't like it, but I'll talk to him if you want me to."

"Blast it... _fine_. Whatever it takes to keep Newton safe. I don't care."

Raleigh smiles over the link, the first bit of genuine warmth on his face today. "You know, I haven't seen you this energized about something in years. I'm glad you've finally got someone who makes you feel that way."

Hermann grins, not caring if all the bloody tourists see him flush. "And I intend to make sure that doesn't change."


	26. Set You Free: Chapter 6

_"You finally made it, buddy!" Newt opens his apartment door, grinning widely at Hermann, who is dressed in a tidy blue plaid button-down and bow tie combo, holding a bottle of wine. He looks nervous, uncertain as to why Newt’s graciousness is being extended now, after years of getting blown off, the cold shoulder, unanswered emails and ignored phone calls._

_Poor guy, he's got no idea how nervous he should be._

_Humans, man. They fall for traps so easily. Like flies in a spiders' web (the hivemind learned what those creatures were from this pathetic fool, and it enjoys the metaphor)._ _All it takes is a bit of wine, a bit of flirting, a promise that 'Alice' will be home “soon, buddy, I can’t wait for you to meet her!” and a well-hidden tranquilizer, injected quickly and forcefully as the other human struggles in their host's grip._

_"Newton… why…?" Hermann slurs as Newt drags him up the stairs, lying him on the bed next to the kaiju brain. "Why would you do this?" He struggles to lift a hand up, weakly touching Newt’s cheek, a caress that shorts the hivemind’s control, but only for a moment, only long enough to let the real Newt comprehend what he’s about to do._

_Newt laughs and weeps as he fits the headset onto Hermann's skull. "I'm sorry, Hermann. They're in my head."_

 

_I'm sorry, Hermann._

 

_I'm sorry._

 

_I'm sorry._

 

_Sorry._

 

_SORRY._

 

_SORRY._

 

_SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY-_

"-wake up, please, Newt, it's only a nightmare, it's not real-"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"Newton, open your eyes."

Newt listens. He opens them to sees Hermann's wide, fearful look, feels Hermann's arms holding him tightly, hears the thudding of his own heart through the rushing blood in his ears, a steady percussion over the rising buzz in the back of his brain. The room is coming back into focus, Hermann's room, the bunk at the Shatterdome. It wasn't real, none of it was real. Or is this the unreality? Is the hivemind taunting him with a dream that Hermann freed him from their control, brought him back from the brink?

_No, stop it_ , Newt thinks, struggling to take deep breaths, balling his fists into his sides. _This is real. I have to believe it’s real, or what the fuck else is left for me?_

“Tell me this is real,” Newt gasps, finding Hermann’s hand under the sheets and gripping it tightly.

Hermann squeezes back, nodding at him. “It’s real, Newton. I’m real. This isn’t a trick.”

“How do I know, how, fuck, Hermann, how?”

Hermann cups his face and kisses him. Softly first, and when Newt opens his mouth to gasp, Hermann’s tongue flits between his lips, teasing Newt’s mouth, and a languid heat sparks in his belly, and that’s how he knows. The void was pain and hollow, and the shadows of Hermann in there couldn’t make him feel like this.

_This is real. This is real. I’m here, I’m in control. These are my thoughts, this is my real body, and I’m in control of it. I am Newton fucking Geiszler, a motherfucking science rockstar, the genius who discovered the hivemind, and I’m in Hermann Gottlieb’s bed, and he wants me here, and shit, man, I never thought I’d be lucky enough to be here, but I am. So, I need to calm the fuck down._

The buzzing fades. His heartbeat slows. His breaths hold steady.

Hermann pulls back, searching Newt’s eyes. "Another nightmare?”

Newt nods, shivering and pressing forward into Hermann's warmth, nuzzling into his chest. "Yeah. Thanks for the reality check. They always feel so real, Herms. I'm so fucking done with this hivemind bullshit."

"I'm telling Hadiyya to hook us up for a drift tomorrow," Hermann replies, kissing his forehead. "I can't stand seeing you like this."

Newt snorts. "I can't stand _being_ like this, dude. Every time those fuckers act up, it's like a thousand flies crawling through my skull. I just want my head back." And again, he reminds himself, this was his fault. His choice to keep drifting with the kaiju brain. His choice to chase the high, to not tell Hermann the truth, to leave, to run away.

Choices are all well and good, until you have to live with them.

"Soon, I promise," Hermann says, as if he can tell the future, can know that things will turn out alright. Of course, he can't, but he's so confident, and Newt isn't sure whether it's confidence in himself or in Newton's ability to heal. Hopefully it's the former, because Newt's still not too certain about the latter.

There's a breeze from the vent above the bed, blowing cool air down onto them, keeping the whole Shatterdome cool, too cool. Newt's always hated the cold, wearing long sleeves and jackets, because the base is never warm enough. Hermann's shirt disappeared sometime last night when Newt decided to map out every inch of Hermann's skin with his tongue, and now his bare chest is a wall of heat, thin wisps of hair tickling Newt's nose.

Hermann isn't a hairy man, not that Newt is a yeti or anything, but what hair exists is soft and lacks the scratchiness he knows from past lovers. Hermann could be described as willowy, if he was a tree, and if Newt was into dumb-ass cliché metaphors. Most of the guys Newt has been with have been muscled, tattooed punks, and the women mostly the same. He’s guilty of having a type, and Hermann does not fit into that box. Hermann has his own personal box just for him, made from knitted tweed and overflowing with mathematics and dry Oxbridge sarcasm.

If you ask Newt the difference, what makes Hermann unique and worth holding onto, well, other than the brilliant analytical mind, penchant for sassy comebacks, and the adorkable way he gets flustered when they fight, if none of those things count… then the difference is that Hermann understands his bullshit on such an intimate damn level, and instead of running away or giving him up as a lost cause, Hermann dug in and pushed back.

Newt is too much, too much energy, too many thoughts, too many fucked up parts that make a crooked whole. Newt decorates his body like a shrine to science and sea monsters, stays up until four in the morning binge watching old mecha anime while high on Pixie sticks and the dankest weed this side of the Lan Kwai Fong district. He babbles out every little thought when he's brainstorming, hands buried in dead alien viscera, keeps chaotic notes scattered about under jars of formaldehyde kaiju livers. He listens to Megadeath while performing delicate soldiering work on Jaeger components (through headphones, a compromise), yet he can't fucking get through a meal without spilling something onto his clothes.

All this is to say, he’s kind of a lot to handle. Past partners put up with him for only so long, always ending it with phrases like _need to focus on myself right now_ and _can’t deal with all your issues._ And those were people he was trying to fall for! Unlike his crabby, besweatered lab partner, who hated his music and picked holes in his theories and taped a literal line down the middle of their lab and talked about _respecting boundaries_ and _following safety protocols_ and needled him about whether he was getting enough sleep, eating correctly, taking showers, writing his family.

And yet, for all the fights and exasperation, all the cursing and arguing and one-upsmanship... Hermann kept coming back. Hermann saw through the sarcasm and insults and bravado and didn’t buy a damn bit of it. He expected more of Newt, demanded Newt show him exactly how amazing he could be.

Hermann makes him more brilliant than he ever was alone. No, scratch that, they’re brilliant _together_.

If that’s not a good enough foundation for love, then what the hell is?

Newt’s thoughts are interrupted by a thrumming coming from Hermann's chest. He's humming something, very softly. Wait, no, Newt can hear mumbled words...

" _Im Sturz durch Zeit und Raum, erwacht aus einem Traum..._ "

Newt keeps his head down, eyes closed, listening and not wanting to disturb the moment. Hermann singing... he so rarely hears it, a scant few times in the past, when Hermann thinks Newt isn't listening, too buried in work to pay attention to Hermann's soft vibratto. Newt's forgotten the deep timbre, the way it rolls up out of Hermann's throat and tumbles into his eardrums. It's a rare treat.

" _Irgendwie fängt irgendwann, irgendwo die Zukunft an, ich warte nicht mehr lang..."_ Hermann continues.

"I thought you only listened to stodgy old white dudes who didn't write lyrics," Newt mutters, too curious now. "Y'know, classical shit."

"My mother," Hermann replies. "It's a song she used to love. Some trashy eighties ballad, really, but she would sing it to my father all the time. I suppose it's quite clever for a pop song."

"So now you're singing it to me." Newt smiles, lifting his head. "You are the sappiest goddamn dude I've ever dated." Hermann looks a bit pink, even in the darkness, and isn't that just some cute shit right there?

"So," Newt continues. "What's it mean?"

"I'm still flabbergasted sometimes, how little German you know," Hermann says. "You were born in the blasted country."

"Yeah, well, I'm shit at languages, and we moved when I was so young. Dad and Illia used to speak it sometimes, but I think dad just wanted to Americanize me as much as possible. It worked, I guess?" Newt shrugs. "Still didn't answer my question."

"It's a love song. All about falling through space and time, and the future starting in our hearts, and being ready for love anyhow, anywhere, anytime. If you knew the bloody language, you'd appreciate it more."

"Says the guy who dropped his accent to sound like an upper crusty Oxford professor."

" _Du bist ein Idiot und ich liebe ich dich trotzdem_. Is that better?"

"Much. I understood at least one of those words." Newt frowns when he sees Hermann's put out expression. "Does is really bother you that much? It's not like we're in some awful mid-2000s rom-com and unable to speak the same language and yet somehow falling madly in love anyway. You can call me an idiot in English any time you want."

"It would just be nice," Hermann says, shrugging. His eyelids dip low, eyes hooded as he leans in a bit closer. "I'd like to be able to fluster you in several languages."

Newt grins, butting his forehead against Hermann's. "Well, I can scream your name in every language in the world, so that's something."

Hermann chuckles, his lips ghosting against Newt’s. “I’d like to test that claim.”

_You kept pushing back_ , Newt thinks, as he pulls Hermann closer. _It only took the apocalypse for me to understand why._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Hermann sings is called "Irgendwie, Irgendwo, Irgendwann" by Nena. It is SUPER 80s and SUPER adorable and would've been all over the radio when Hermann's mom and dad were courting. You can see the music vid here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oas5nAlfrwg
> 
> Sorry about the slower posting schedule. After this week, hopefully things will ramp back up.


	27. Set You Free: Chapter 7

"Careful of my tats, doc," Newt says, lying back in the cushioned examination chair in Dr. Pitafi's office. He’s come for some general health tests, and Hadiyya loves to get pokey with the needles. "I'd hate to scar these masterpieces. I went through a lot of damn pain to get them, after all."

"I think we'll be just fine, mmm? This isn't the first time I've stuck you, and you flopped about a bit more when you were unconscious." Hadiyya swabs his arm with a yellowy antiseptic. Newt feels a bit queasy watching it; despite dozens of hours in a tattoo artist's chair, getting ink injected under his skin, getting blood taken still gives him the heebie jeebies. At least with a tattoo gun the needle doesn't stay in your arm, under your skin, wigging you out every time you shift just the slightest bit. "This time you're awake and can hold still."

He looks away as she goes to prepare the needle, closing his eyes. "I love your love of data, Doc, really, I do. I share your enthusiasm for learning any and every little detail possible, but a little less so when it's my own body on the line. I kinda already ran those risks and got screwed over for trying them."

"Pish posh, comparing me drawing blood to you strapping on a Pons and trying to drift with an alien life form. It’s only a few vials." He feels her hands still when someone knocks on the door to the lab. "Hold on a moment." He hears her get up, her flats going _clap clap clap_ on the linoleum, folds of her blouse swishing against the inside of her lab coat as she strides over to the door.

She opens it and begins talking to someone on the other side. Newt isn't too interested, too focused on the anticipation of the blood taking, until he hears "-Dr. Geiszler? Could I- is it alright if..."

"He's not a specimen to gawk at, young lady," Hadiyya mutters. "He's been through a very trying ordeal and he doesn't need any nosy teenagers buzzing about-"

"Hey, doc? I don't mind," Newt calls out, opening his eyes. "What's the kid want?"

A thin, red-headed teenage girl has zipped into the room before Hadiyya can protest otherwise. She's got her hands shoved in her pockets and is totally going for the disaffected teenager look that Newt was hot shit at back in the early aughts.

"Dr. Geiszler, I'm Amara Nam- uh, Ranger Namani. I just wanted to say that all the work you and Dr. Gottlieb did back in the day was awesome, like those old Jaegers were so cool and I've read all your old papers on kaiju morphology, and all your work helped me learn how to build Scrapper, so I, uh, I just wanted to say thanks?" Her voice has progressively gotten more excited as she talks. "And also, I always wanted to know your theoretical process in designing the Geiszler Array, and like, how you knew what would help more efficiently initiate the neural handshake... oh! And where did the idea for the Milking Machine come from?"

"You asked for this, Dr. Geiszler," Hadiyya says as she sits back down. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Newt smiles. "Nah, that's alright. That’s kind of a lot of questions, Ranger Namani. You're the one who built that mini Jaeger, right? I think I have some questions for you too."

Namani bites her lip, and he can tell she's ecstatic that he knows about her Jaeger, even if she's trying to hide it. _I'm a science rock star to this pipsqueak Ranger who just saved the world. Ok, that’s a little badass._

"We could, uh, trade answers, I guess?" she says.

"A consultation, I like it. But just so you know, I'll let you know if I think your reasoning is bullshit- oww, watch the needle, would you, Hadiyya?"

"Watch your language, _Dr. Geiszler_ ," Hadiyya says, glaring at him. Oh, right. Maybe he should clean up his mouth a little. _Wait, when the hell did I get so old, watching my words around kids?_

"That's okay!" Namani yelps. "Maybe you'll, uh, know how I could improve my next design."

"You're gonna build another one?" Newt asks.

"Jake- uh, Ranger Pentecost is trying to convince Ranger Lambert that I could help Ranger Reyes out in engineering. I think a bunch of us in small Jaegers supporting one or two larger Jaegers would be vastly more efficient, because we could exploit weak points and use speed to do a lot of little damage, which could add up over time."

"It's an interesting theory," Newt says, nodding. "But Kaiju hide is extremely thick and requires a very strong weapon to pierce. How would you compensate for the energy required to operate, say, a chain sword or hide piercing artillery when the Jaeger would be too small to carry the usual battery?"

"Lift your arm, Dr. Geiszler, I need to wrap it," Hadiyya says.

"Wrap- wait, you're done?" He glances at his arm and sees her applying a gauze pad. There are three small vials full of blood on the tray table next to her.

"Why is she taking your blood?" Namani asks. "I thought the hivemind only affected your neurology."

"Ranger Namani, have you learned nothing about minding your own business?" Hadiyya snaps. "Would you like all of your trauma to be picked over by strangers?"

"Hadiyya, it's, it's cool. Really," Newt says, seeing the mortified look Namani now has. "I'd be curious too. It's not every day you, well, she, talks to somebody who was dumb enough to hook their brain up to a monster's."

"It wasn't dumb!" Namani says, and the way she practically shouts it make both Newt and Hadiyya give her a second look. "You guys saved the world. I mean, Ranger Beckett and Ranger Mori operated Gipsy Danger, but if you guys hadn't helped them, the plan would've failed."

"The children are our future, see, doc?" Newt says, finally pulling his arm back, now fully bandaged. "Somebody else who doesn't think I'm a piece of shi- er, crap."

Hadiyya snorts. "Quite. However adorable this is, we're going to be doing some stress testing, and I'd like some privacy for that. So, Ranger, if you wouldn't mind. The papers Ranger Lambert wants are in that file on the desk. That's why you came in the first place, remember?"

"Yeah, uh, okay." Namani grabs the file, glancing between the door and Newt. "Thanks for talking to me, Dr. Geiszler."

Newt winks. "No problem, kid. Hey, I've got pretty much nothing to do until they either free me or shoot me, so if you're bored, I'm either hanging out with my uncle or Hermann. Stop by and you can poke my brain again."

Namani nods, unable to hide a grin. "Cool. Could, could Vik or Ryiochi come too?"

"Sure. Any of you brats want to kick it with an old man like me, let me know."

Namani leaves, and Hadiyya has Newt get onto the treadmill in the room and starts hooking him up to the monitors. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised you enjoy the company of teenagers, Newt."

"Eww.” Newt scrunches his face in disgust. “I know you're trying to make a joke about my mental age, but you could've phrased it better. And... it's familiar." Hadiyya gives him a curious look. "Mako."

Mako Mori, curious child of Stacker Pentecost. Always popping into the lab, peeking over their shoulders while they worked, asking questions, wanting to help Hermann build Jaegers and Newton tear open Kaiju. She was the one thing that they agreed upon in the early days, still bitter and resentful of each other; she was the middle they could meet in. When she wasn't training with the other pilots, attending on-base school, or spending time with her foster father, she would sneak down to K-Science and sit on Newt's desk, studying his drawings, pointing out where he'd done the anatomy incorrectly. She would watch Hermann scribble equations on his chalkboards, double-check his coding when late nights left him producing errors. The older she got, the smarter, but the less time she had to just enjoy being a kid, and the more she needed to train. Still, she'd always make time to come by, and geek out over the latest seasonal anime with Newt, or shit-talk Hermann's father with him and how the wall would never work.

Mako always knew how to end their arguments too. One time, while he was designing updates to the Pons networking, had been stressed to hell and back about the safety of the wiring, and as icing on the cake, Hermann had called his blueprints 'error-ridden rubbish,' she'd dressed Hermann down by citing every coding error he'd made in the last month and how it could affect pilot safety in the field, until he'd sheepishly admitted his own imperfection.

Another time, Hermann had gone away and returned in a particularly foul mood, unwilling to communicate and consult the whole of the day, and Newt had poked and poked and needled and generally was his usually nuisance self, which normally wouldn’t phase Hermann, but on this particular day, Hermann had stormed out. Newt was confused until Mako had reminded him that Hermann's mother had died exactly a year prior, and had Newt even bothered to extend his sympathies?

Newt had felt like a complete shithead. The next day, Hermann returned to find his side of the lab swept of refuse, papers neatly organized on his desk, requisition forms he'd been putting off filled out and ready for his signature, and new chalk and erasers on his chalkboard ledges. Newt kept his headphones in the whole day instead of blasting his music, resisted the urge to make any sassy or cutting remarks, and didn't let any of his own work drift into Hermann's space. At the end of the day, Hermann had asked if he wanted to go get a drink off base. They found a hole in the wall, and that night, Hermann opened up to him about his mother, his childhood, his bastard of a father. It was the first genuine conversation they'd had since their letters.

So in a way, without Mako, they might never have found that bridge to each other.

Hadiyya turns on the treadmill, and Newt starts jogging. He finds that the exertion isn't particularly hard. He's kept himself in shape, he thinks the hivemind wanted to make sure their host didn't drop dead for any reason, and there are muscles in his arms and legs that weren't there before. It's uncanny, coming back to a body so different than what you remember before you were subsumed, the only way he can describe the sensation is dysphoria, and that's still not accurate. He never hated or felt disconnected to his body, but he feels like a stranger in this new form. The new strength and endurance he's got are the one bonus to this whole mess. He doesn't think Hermann would care either way if he had a bit of a belly, like before, or was firm and muscled, like now, but he can't deny that the way Hermann's eyes take in every inch of his body mid-coitus is fucking _hot_. Maybe Hermann looked at him that way before, but he can't say he remembers. There were other ways Hermann looked at him that were much more important.

That's something he and Mako talked about, once or twice, the year or so before the Triple Event. She'd been around them long enough to notice how they worked, moved around and towards each other, a back and forth dance of minds, words and looks.

_Does he know?_ she'd asked him once.

_No_ , he'd replied, and she'd pressed him.

_Why not? You should never be afraid to tell someone you love them. You don't know if they'll be there tomorrow._

He'd gotten mad, told her to mind her own damn business, did she think she was the only person who'd ever lost family? He'd hated himself the moment the words left his mouth. She was only telling him the truth, which was more than he could handle.

"Newt? Do you need to take a minute? We're all done with this part." Newt finds that the treadmill has gone off, and he's panting and gripping the side bars, suddenly tired. The buzzing is fading in and out in bursts, and he wipes his forehead, nodding.

"Yeah, that would be great." He lets Hadiyya remove the monitors and then steps off the treadmill, dropping into the chair next to it and resting his elbows on his knees. "Fuck... how long was I on there?"

She hands him a bottle of water. "Only fifteen minutes, but I kept increasing the speed, and you kept pace," she says as he chugs it down. "Hivemind activity increased during the stress, but less so than before." She's quiet while he downs the rest of the bottle, staring at him, thumb pressed to her lip, eyes thoughtful.

"I'm not that interesting to look at, am I?"

"Hmmm? Sorry. You know, you remind me of my brother," Hadiyya says, taking the empty water bottle back from him. "A little in the jawline, but mostly in the personality. He was almost as sarcastic."

"Was?" It's out before Newt can help himself. He sees Hadiyya get this dark expression and he shakes his head. "Sorry. Not my business."

"No. It’s, well, he's not dead. Just might as well be.” Newt can see her vacillating back and forth in indecision of what to tell him, and she must finally settle, because she keeps talking. “He was part of the research division, but there was an accident, about eight years ago. It left him... his mind is gone. Broken."

"Shit, I- I'm sorry." Newt can relate to that loss, and he genuinely means it.

"I think, maybe, that's why I've been so keen on helping you," Hadiyya says, shrugging as she sits back on her stool. "I can't fix his mind. But I can help fix yours."

"Thank you," Newt says, nodding. "Pretty sure I forgot to do that, but seriously, thanks. I owe you just as much as I owe Hermann."

"Then repay me in the right way," Hadiyya says, swiveling in her chair. "Don't give up."


	28. Set You Free: Chapter 8

"Ready?" Hadiyya asks.

Hermann looks at Newt, sitting across from him in the exam chair. They've strapped on the PONs, and Newt sits calmly, no more straps or steel bindings. He's clear-eyed and lucid. He catches Hermann's look, gives him a smile and a wink.

"I'm feeling good. It's a good day," Newt says. "We're gonna fix a memory, I'm gonna get more of my brain back, and then, well, I'd say what I'm gonna do to you as soon as this is over but Hadiyya is in the room and I don't want to scandalize her."

Hermann feels himself go crimson while Hadiyya cackles in the background.

"That's, that's quite the motivation," Hermann stutters, adjusting his headset. "Shall we?"

"Fuck yeah," Newt replies.

"Now, don't get ahead of yourselves, boys," Hadiyya says. "Give it your all, yes? Three, two, one..."

 

_Slipping down through the blues and whites again,_

 

 

 

_I feel him next to me, hand in mine, tumbling together..._

 

 _Colors run and twirl,_ _Irgendwie fängt irgendwann, irgendwo die Zukunft an, ich warte nicht mehr lang..._

 

 

_German, Hermann? Hey, that rhymes!_

 

 

_It took you this long to figure that out-_

 

 

_Swimming downstream, way down we go, tumbling,_

 

 

_tumbling,_

 

 

_tumbling,_

 

 

_-I want to show you everything, not just the bad things but the good too-_

 

_there isn't any time-_

 

_-then that's what matters the most, the good._

 

_-next time, newt, i promise, next time_

 

 

 

_-hermann, i don't feel them, they're hiding hiding i can't find something that feels wrong help me find them_

 

 

 

 

 

_-then show me where it all began._

 

 

 

"-wasn't too hard to track down." It's a deep voice, stale, inhuman, like something recorded by an old computer from the nineties.

Hermann opens his eyes. He's in an alley, a familiar one, squeezed tight between two buildings, scattered refuse lit up neon red and blue by the glowing lights of unreadable signs, or at least, unreadable to Hermann. Hong Kong, Mandarin glowing hues of the rainbow around him, rain and ramshackle roofs that don't keep out the dampness. Hannibal Chau's old territory. He remembers this little cafe to the left, remembers visiting it late one night with Newt for a drink-and-vent-about-our-nonexistent-funding sesh.

Now he sees two figures standing close to one another outside of it. One tall, wiry, with rat-tail hair and sun-aged skin. The other, much shorter, the perfect height for Hermann to rest his head atop, lean against for warmth and safety and comfort. Newton.

Next to them is a large object, covered with a cloth and set on a wheeled cart. Memory Newton is peeking beneath the tattered cloth, tapping his finger against what's underneath.

"Looks okay. Asking price better be the same as when we talked."

"You wanted us to steal something from the Shatterdome," the other man says, swatting Newt's hand away. "That doesn't come cheap. And the merch isn't yours yet, so keep off it."

"Fine, fine. Here." Memory Newt picks up the briefcase next to his feet and hands it off. "If anybody saw you take this-"

"They didn't, we don't get caught," the man replies. "Now where are we sending this?"

The scene shifts, and Hermann struggles to keep upright as the world changes. It's an apartment now, something clean, tasteful and modern. There's a simple kitchenette, a living room with two beige couches, and one wall is completely made of windows, looking out from high above into central Shanghai.

Newt is in the apartment, pouring himself a drink. He's got his shirt-sleeves rolled up, and he's still soaked from the rain (a different rain, they’re almost certainly in Shanghai now), droplets running down his arms, hair slicked back. It's liable to give Hermann a conniption. Newt is younger here, as if he'd stepped out of their lab yesterday. There are a dozen boxes scattered about the room, objects waiting to be unpacked. He can't have been living here very long. Which means he's likely just started employment with Shao. And yes, the gash on his cheek is still there, barely healed over.

The bulky item is still under the tarp, but now placed on the coffee table in the living room. Memory Newt takes his drink, moves to close the blinds, and then plops down onto a couch. He reaches out and yanks the tarp off the object.

The light from the table lamp hits the sickly yellow liquid and casts a pale, jaundiced glow. The Kaiju brain inside throbs gently, floating in the center of the tank, hooked to wires and tubes keeping it alive. Memory Newt sips his drink and kicks up his feet onto the table.

"Good to see you again, honey," Memory Newt says, smiling. "Been far too long. What a beauty you are..." There's the slightest bit of tremble in his fingers as he takes another sip. "We're gonna have fun together, aren't we?"

Hermann watches him unbox a stolen PONs and start fiddling with the wires.

"So soon?" Hermann asks, walking over, knowing the memory won't hear him but the real Newt will. "Was the hivemind truly that compelling after we’d just saved the planet from it?"

Memory Newt yelps as he yanks off a panel on the PONs. Hermann sits down on the couch next to him. He's wants to reach out, touch Memory Newt's face, draw his attention, tell him to stop. It's just a memory. He reaches out anyway. His hand will pass right through.

Except it doesn't.

Memory Newt's shoulder is solid, and he twists his head to meet Hermann's eyes, but Memory Newt's eyes are red, his smile cracked into a furious rage.

" _Human Gottlieb_ ," he hisses, and Hermann gasps and tries to pull back, but Memory Newt's hand grabs his wrist, nails digging in.

" _We told you to stay out of his head, and you came right to us._ "

Hermann cries out as the windows of the apartment shatter inwards, the glass tank beside them breaking into a thousand pieces as the room whips with a furious wind. He feels the glass cut his skin, stinging pain ( _hivemind it’s the hivemind they’ve found us_ ), and tries to curl inwards protectively, but Memory Newt, now Hivemind Newt, pins him to the couch, nails digging into Hermann’s wrists, trapping him with a strength far greater than he can resist. The rain pours in, and Hivemind Newt cackles with a murderous fury.

"Newton!" Hermann yells, struggling as the room dissolves, everything dissolves except the hivemind, a thick darkness wrapped tightly around him, holding him still. He's falling into the void, straining upwards as the wriggling minds press towards him, invading and pushing into him anywhere they can, through his ears and eyes and mouth, drowning, he is drowning, he is lost.

He closes his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_HERMANN!_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_A hand. A hand in his own, pulling him out of the void. Pulling him up, up, up and out, up and out-_

 

 

_up and out_

 

_up_

 

 

**_DO NOT RETURN_ **

 

_up_

 

_out_

 

**_NEXT TIME WE WILL TAKE HIM SOMEWHERE YOU WILL NEVER FIND_ **

 

_up_

 

_out_

 

_up_

 

_out_

 

"-please wake up, Hermann, please, you need to be okay, please!"

Hermann groans, and feels a weight crash into him, knocking the wind from his lungs.

"Wh-what, what happened?" he asks, opening his eyes to see Hadiyya staring at him, eyes wide and hands over her mouth. The warm weight against him is Newt, who has wrapped himself around Hermann in a tight hug. "Newt?" Herman mumbles.

"I couldn't find you," Newt whispers, hands gripping Hermann's arms tightly. "They hid you from me, I don't know how, but the only reason I found you was because I felt your pain, fuck... I thought, I thought-"

"I'm alright," Hermann says, resting his head on Newt's shoulder. "Seems like we can't do things easily, can we?"

"Hermann." Hadiyya is reading from a tablet, flicking her finger against the screen. "You were seizing in the chair like Newt used to. And your DEEG went crazy just now. The hivemind went from a bump to a solid wall, and yours almost disappeared. You're back to normal, but that's _highly_ concerning."

"It's lashing out," Hermann says. "All of this drifting, maybe it's keyed in on my brainwave patterns. I've no clue. But if it's part of that memory, something must be wrong with what you remember. If we could go back in-"

"No!" Newt pulls back, expression in a panic. "No, it's getting better and better at tracking you down every time you're in my head. What if it finds you again? No more, that's it. We're done."

"Done, what, drifting?" Hermann asks, looking incredulously at him. "Are you mad? How can we possibly fix the memories without drifting?"

"I don't give a shit, Hermann, it's not worth it anymore! I'm not putting you at risk again."

"I get to decide what sorts of risks I take, thank you very much!"

"Not when it comes to getting possessed by the fucking hivemind inside my head, dude!"

"Hey!" Hadiyya shouts. "Both of you need to calm down. Immediately. If you're drifting again, it won't be today. Go get some rest, doctor's orders."

Newt shuts down any attempt at conversation as they walk back to Hermann's room. It's infuriating; the man never stops talking and now suddenly he's giving Hermann the stony, silent treatment? Hermann's head is throbbing from whatever brilliance the hivemind attempted just now, so he lets Newt get away with the pouting, but only until they get into the room.

"Newton..." Hermann begins as the door closes. Newt turns and looks at him, and there's such sadness in that look that Hermann stops, regards him with an uncertain expression. Newt steps closer, lifts his hands up, and cups Hermann's face. He tries for a smile, eyes dull with that same sadness.

"You're just about all I've got left, Herm," Newt says, swallowing a choked breath. "My career is over, pretty much the whole world thinks I'm some sort of cartoonish supervillain, and I'm probably gonna end up in front of a firing squad soon enough, or worse."

"Stop it, Newton." Hermann grips his shoulders. "You mustn't think like this."

Newt laughs bitterly. "Too late. The point is that I'm not gonna spend the time I have left destroying you along with everything else in the world I've fucked up."

"You know what's destroying me, Newton Geiszler? This!" Hermann motions to Newt. "Your defeatist attitude, after every impossible odd we have beaten so far! I won't have it! I did not spend the last several months bringing you back just to watch you fall apart. And you, of all people, have never shirked from your myriad of failures, the plethora of which I can describe in great detail, but choose not to, because your successes are so much more relevant to whom you are!"

Hermann steps closer as Newt's hands drift down to his shoulders, Newt’ eyes wide in shock.

"I will say it again. You are a good man, Newton Geiszler. If I must spend the rest of eternity convincing you of that, I shall."

"You're an impossible individual," Newt says, hanging his head. "Just, like, the most infuriating person I've ever had the fortune to fall in love with. Most people rightly despise super-villains, you know."

"Most people are idiots, haven't you said that?"

"God, would you stop using my own words against me? That's some sneaky shit you're usually incapable of."

Hermann smiles, reaches down to find Newt's hand and bring it to his lips for a kiss on the knuckles. "And you're incapable of admitting when I'm correct."

Newt doesn't look up, but Hermann sees his lips quirk. "That's so not true, I've admitted you're right several... fews of times. To be fair, it's a rarity that I'm wrong."

"You, believing that you're right about everything? What an utterly shocking concept. I certainly didn't hear that every day for ten years."

"Are we, like, fighting right now or flirtatiously arguing? 'Cause my emotions are super fucked up and I can't tell whether that was meant to be mean or teasing." Newt glances up at him.

Hermann sighs and tugs him towards the bed. "The latter, darling."

"I still don't like the idea of us drifting again," Newt says as Hermann pulls him to lay down. "My shrink said I need to find more ways to gain control."

"And... you believe this decision should be one of them?"

"Just, like, let me decide when the next one happens," Newt replies. "We need to know more about what went on a decade ago first. I need to know why there are all these things that I don't remember. Even though I started drifting regularly, I didn't start losing time until about five years ago, or at least, I thought I hadn't."

"More distortions," Hermann says.

"Maybe," Newt says. "But maybe not quite like before."

"What are you suggesting?"

"It's like... all those memories before were just variants of reality," Newt says. "Events that happened but changed ever so slightly. But I have no reference for the emails, being in LA... I don't remember them. And if I don't remember them, but there's documentation that they happened, then maybe there's something important about those memories that the hivemind really doesn't want me to know... Fuck, I don't know, I'm talking out of my ass here, Herm."

"No," Hermann replies. "You might be on to something." He cups Newt's cheek, stroking his thumb against the prickly stubble of Newt's jaw. "You're in control of how we do this from now on. Only when you're ready. I've been pushing you out of my own eagerness."

Newt nods, leaning into his touch. "I'm eager too, dude, believe me. But tracking down information outside of the drift is our best option. Have you heard back from Raleigh yet?"

"No. But he said it might take a few days."

"If I was working on a project, there have to be other people who helped me. Maybe they still work in the LA Shatterdome, or maybe some were transferred here. You should ask around when you're in the lab."

"I will," Hermann says. "I know Lambert and Pentecost will be flying out there at some point as well. Perhaps they could uncover something."

"If I didn't have this fucking ankle bracelet, I'd be hopping a transport and hacking their systems manually."

"That would be a poor life choice, Newton. You're already on thin ice."

Newt snorts. "The thinnest. But if we don't find out what was going on, then I'm as good as fallen through it."


	29. Set You Free: Chapter 9

There's a chirping noise in Hermann's ear, some dratted sound breaking through the pleasant stillness of the night. A blue glow burns through his eyelids, and when he opens his eyes, he sees the source: the tablet from Liwen. It's making the noise, and lights up his bunk in the evening darkness, casting long shadows across the walls.

Behind him, Hermann can hear Newt's soft snore, muffled by the bedsheets. They'd spent the remainder of the evening in the nude, getting their frustrations out with each other. Hermann hadn't realized he had the energy or capacity for continual lovemaking until he'd found a partner eager and willing for the task. That old belt is already fraying; they had better fix another memory soon, or he might need to privately requisition some rope.

The chirping continues, somehow not waking the man sleeping beside him. Hermann slides out of bed, trodding over to his desk, where the tablet lies, and picking it up. The screen is lit up in blue, with a green button vibrating in the center. Above the button, in bold type are the words CALLER UNKNOWN.

Curious, Hermann taps the button.

The screen shifts, and Hermann practically jumps out of his skin as a familiar face - aged from the last time Hermann saw him, deeper lines in his forehead and hairline beginning to recede, but expression still just as stern and disapproving - pops on screen. The face moves, and Hermann realizes that it's a live feed.

"F-father?" Herman squeaks, adjusting the timbre of his voice a moment later. He considers switching to German, but the petulant child in him refuses to give his father any quarter, and Hermann has always had the better grasp of languages. "What in bloody blazes- how did you connect to this tablet?"

"Why are you answering a video call while disrobed, might I ask?" Lars Gottlieb replies. “We are family, Hermann, but please put on some clothing.”

Hermann realizes that, not only can he see his father, his father can see him, naked from the waist up. He drops the tablet onto the desk and leaps backwards, like he's been burned. _Good show, Hermann, the first conversation you have with your father in five years and you look like you’ve been doing… exactly what you were doing earlier this evening._

"Mmm.... Hermann?" Newt's sleepy voice echoes from the bed. "Whas goin' on...?"

"Nothing, nothing at all, go back to sleep," Hermann replies, scrambling to find a shirt. He snatches up the one Newt had been wearing earlier, a dull grey t-shirt that's far too big for him, but it smells like Newt and that’s a comfort that calms his panicked state; it will do for now. He yanks it on, thankfully already clad in boxers, and then picks the tablet back up. "There. Now explain. How did you even contact me?"

"Ranger Beckett gave me the key code to call onto this device," Lars says. "He said you were hoping to speak with me.” Lars squints at the screen, looking up towards the right, like he’s trying to look over Hermann’s shoulder. “Who is in the room with you?"

"None of your damned business, father," Hermann says, sitting down at his desk, keeping the screen pointed away from the bed. It’s bad enough that he needs to involve Lars in their affairs in any capacity. His father and his personal life are poor company, and he tends to avoid mixing them as much as he can. Newt certainly doesn’t need to learn what it’s like to be under the discriminating gaze of Lars Gottlieb.

"I was asked to contact you regarding a certain former laboratory partner of yours," Lars says, frowning. "If someone else is present, then we cannot speak of this."

“I would not be continuing this conversation if I believed there would be an issue,” Hermann snaps.

“And I will _not_ be continuing this conversation if parties who should not be privy to this information are present,” Lars replies, displaying a level of detached indifference that Hermann has never mastered, possibly because he has the capacity to empathize with other humans, a skill his father has never provided evidence of.

 _Blast it_ , Hermann thinks. _This is why I hadn’t wanted to contact the man in the first place._

Hermann sighs, rubbing his face. "Fine. It's just Newton, alright? He's had a bit of a rough day, so I'd rather we let him sleep. Now, if you’re done prying into my personal life…"

Lars presses his hands together, tapping the tips of his fingers against his lips, a pose he often takes when he’s attempting to broach a difficult topic. Hermann has seen it plenty of times, in discussions with himself mostly, about the very many topics they disagree on. "Hermann, you look as if you've also had a 'rough day.' You look, in fact, as you’ve had a great many rough days. The reports made to the council have been concerning, to say the least. Tell me, what precautions are you taking to ensure that your drifts with Dr. Geiszler are not inflicting damage upon your own psyche?"

Hermann bites back a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I would prefer if we moved on from this routine where you pretend to care how I've been and I pretend I appreciate that you've pretended to care. It’s endlessly tiring and frankly, I don’t give a damn whether you think the precautions I’m taking are stringent enough."

“I am simply trying to ascertain that your own mental state has not been compromised by your drifting with a hivemind-possessed individual,” Lars says.

“I assure you, my mental acuity is the soundest it’s been in years,” Hermann says, and perhaps that’s not entirely true, but it has nothing to do with (his own) possession by the Precursors, and entirely to do with his having to drag his long-suffering lab partner cum romantic partner out of the clutches of the hivemind. Surely, he can be forgiven for a lack of mental fortitude considering the stress he’s been under.

Lars shakes his head, sighs, always disappointed, nothing Hermann hasn’t seen before. "As you wish. But you were the one who wished to speak with me."

"Yes, I was. I need to know what's going on in the council," Hermann says. Better to be blunt, straight to the point about this sort of thing. "What they're planning to do about Newton. Are they going to try him?"

"You know how confidentiality works, Hermann, yes? Allow me to remind you; I cannot tell you these things." Lars says it in a tone, as if he’s speaking to a very stupid child, and Hermann has the realization that he sometimes uses the same tone on Newton, and this is where he gets it, and frustration and guilt bubble in a messy cohesion in his stomach.

"Listen to me,” Hermann says, biting back the _you narcissistic, self-important fool of a man_ that he wants to include at the end of that sentence. “Something is going on. Newt's memories and the evidence we have found are not matching up. We think, well, I am almost certain that someone on the council might know more about the situation than they're letting on."

Lars’ expression is unmoved by the revelation. "I am the German delegate to the PPDC, Hermann. I have to respect the privacy of the rest of my fellow council members."

"Even if they're framing him for this?" Hermann asks, tired of excuses, that's all Lars ever had for him, excuses and disagreement and disappointment. "Something happened in 2027, father. Something to do with Newt visiting the LA Shatterdome on several occasions, without Liwen Shao's knowledge. Some sort of project that was so secretive that he couldn't even tell Raleigh Beckett, who should've had access to any K-Science information by that point."

"And how are you to even know that this hypothetical project it is related to Dr. Geiszler's so-called 'possession?'" Lars shoots back. "There is no proof."

"Bloody Christ, that's why I'm asking for _help_!" Hermann yelps. Newt shifts behind Hermann, and he pauses, takes a breath, waits a moment until he hears the other man still. No good involving Newt in the messy interplay of father and son that he’s been hashing out with Lars for the last four decades. He continues at a lower volume "You know all the council members. Most of them haven't changed in the last decade. If one of them knows what was going on back then and whether it had anything to do with the hivemind... I'm just asking you to observe. Ask questions. See if anyone is a little too keen on 'dealing with' Newton in a permanent manner."

Lars sighs again. "Consider yourself, Hermann. You are quite insistent upon saving a dead man. Why? You are risking your sanity and reputation on a lost cause, my son."

"No. You bloody well _don’t_ get to tell me whether I’m pursuing the right course of action, _Herr Gottlieb_ ," Hermann says. "Or do you not remember who made the correct choice last time we had a disagreement of this magnitude?"

Lars shakes his head, weary eyed, disappointed. Always disappointed, damn him for ever giving Hermann a shred of hope that he could live up to Lars’ expectations. "It is not the same. Every piece of evidence points to his guilt. Do you truly believe you can convince everyone otherwise?"

The question gives Hermann pause. Does he believe it, truly?

He glances back over his shoulder. Newt’s form lies still in the moonlight, breathing softly, features smoothed out and relaxed in sleep. His hair sticks out at all sorts of wild angles, and Hermann remembers the feel of it, wondering at how soft it managed to be despite the gel Newt has begun using again. He remembers gripping it tight a few hours ago as he thrust hurriedly against Newt’s leg, Newt gasping out pleased, encouraging sounds. And that’s all well and nice, but Hermann wants more. He wants to be able to ruffle Newt’s hair after the man’s made another brilliant discovery, and smooth it down while they dress for a date night, and press his face to the salt-water dampened locks on trips to the Mediterranean seaside, and pepper soft kisses against the top of Newt’s head while they curl into each other and watch movies on their couch, in their own apartment.

He wants this all and more for years to come, and perhaps that’s greedy, but two decades on and Newton Geiszler is still the most fascinating part of his universe.

Hermann looks back to Lars. "I believe I must try."

"I've heard rumors, Hermann, of how you are with him." Lars looks uncomfortable to speak of it, and Hermann realizes that he and his father have never really spoken of his sexuality, or his feelings for Newt. "You are blinding yourself to the reality of the situation, and you will be devastated when you lose him. You should make a clean break now, before it is too late."

Hermann laughs wearily, the sound of a man who now knows this whole conversation has been pointless. Lars will never change. "You would have me abandon him in his hour of need?”

“I would have you preserve yourself, my son,” Lars replies. “What good is wasting your life on Dr. Geiszler?”

“Because I love him,” Hermann says. “And parting from him now would be another kind of death.”

“How _dramatic_ , Hermann. You will ruin yourself,” Lars says. “When he is gone, what comfort will you have then?”

Hermann has had enough. He goes for the low blow, decency be damned. “Father, I realize the concept of unconditional love is entirely foreign to you, seeing as how your reaction to news of mother’s imminent demise was denial and abandonment, but I suppose that’s just a difference between father and son. Unlike you and mother, I shall not mourn Newton until he is truly lost to me. Not a moment before that."

Lars' expression is stricken between shock, anger and grief. "Hermann-"

"No.” Hermann is many years past caring what this man thinks. “If you will not help me save him, then I shall have to go it alone. Don't worry yourself, I'm quite used to it. I won’t be reaching out further. Good night, father."

Hermann taps the 'end call' button before his father can respond. Then he turns off the tablet for good measure.

He crawls back into bed, shifting down and pulling Newt against him.

"Newton, are you awake?" Hermann whispers. No response. "Ah. That's alright. I lied to him, at the end there. Just a bit. I was used to going it alone, when I was younger. And then you had to go and mess it all up, being there for me, loving me, making me feel wanted." Hermann strokes Newt's hair, smiling as Newt grunts and shifts in his sleep. "You dear man, you’ve no idea how much better my life is because of your presence, do you?"

Newt nuzzles his face into Hermann's chest. Perhaps it's an unconscious reaction to Hermann's words, or perhaps it's simply an instinctual need. Whichever, it's answer enough for now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. I was planning on posting on Wednesday but... well, shit happens and your author passes out hella early. I'm gonna push to keep up with the 2x a week schedule, I've already gotten a bunch of beta read chapters back from my wonderful beta so I have no excuse. Next chapter either Monday or Tuesday.


	30. Set You Free: Chapter 10

"I'm glad you came back, Newton."

Newt picks at the fraying fabric of the couch in Dr. Ayoade's office, shrugging. "Yeah, well, I wasn't sure I would, but I had an idea."

He's been considering this since yesterday, with the failed drift and almost losing Hermann. He knows Hermann is right, that they can't just give up, but there's got to be another way to trigger these memories besides putting the other man at risk each time. You go to therapy to fix shit with your brain, and the hivemind is -in essence- some shit that’s wrong with his brain. Sort of. The one to one comparison isn’t perfect, okay? But forcing square pegs into round holes is kind of his forte.

Newt explains his idea as best he can. Dr. Ayoade nods and makes little "mhmm" noises while he talks. She doesn’t interrupt his flow, and it’s kind of nice to have someone listen to your wild, scientifically sketchy theories without immediately trying to point out every flaw. Not that he doesn’t appreciate Hermann’s constant push back (because Newt is now a better scientist for it, he’s humble enough to admit that), but sometimes he feels fit to explode in an outward release of force to rival the Big Bang, his need to express himself outweighing any propriety, and that’s usually how fights with Hermann got started back during the war. Hermann needs structure and certainty and organized, ordered progress, and Newt needs to theorize past the point of reasonable and straight into the unlikely. It’s how he ended up strapping himself to a Pons in the first place.

When he’s done, Dr. Ayoade frowns, tapping the end of her pen against her lip. "So, what I'm basically hearing from all of that is... you want me to help you unlock repressed memories?”

“Bingo, Doc.” Newt nods, and she matches his smile.

“It's an interesting thought, Newt. The problem is, it's impossible to distinguish what's called a 'repressed memory' from a false one. For all we know, what we 'uncover' could be a false memory created by your mind at my suggestion. We learned that the hard way back in the eighties."

"Yeah, normally it'd be a dumb idea," Newt says, nodding. "But my mind isn't normal, Doc. There's a fucking crazy hivemind in here, literally blocking parts of my memory, and the only way we've been able to fight it so far is by figuring out what's supposed to be there. Weren't Freud and Jung all about 'unlocking the unconscious'? Therapy is supposed to be integrative nowadays, don't tell me you don't have some dream analysis or free association training under your belt. Maybe I could draw a fucking mandala and I'll see something in the fractals that will trigger all my long-lost memories."

"Someone has been reading up on counseling theory, I presume," Dr. Ayoade says, an amused quirk to her lip.

Newt shrugs, waves his hand dismissively. "I've had nothing to do for days and I don't like the idea of someone meddling around in my head without knowing what they're doing. No offense."

"None taken. I like that you go and seek out knowledge for yourself, rather than waiting for me to explain it. You've got an inquisitive mind, which is no surprise, what with the six PhDs."

"Eh, after the fourth one, my previously accumulated knowledge made the last two a cakewalk. Don’t ever tell Hermann I said that though. Wait, you can’t, doctor-patient confidentiality, right? Nice. Cool. So, psychoanalytic, Jungian analysis - which one are we going with?"

"Ah, hold on. There’s a problem with your theory," Dr. Ayoade says. Damn, Newt was hoping he could just convince her in one clever, cogent argument. Therapists gotta therapize, Newt supposes. She continues. "If we pursue this under a psychoanalytic theory and hypothesize that these memories are stored in your unconscious, waiting to be freed, well, the hivemind is blocking that unconscious, and the hivemind is not an internally produced defense mechanism that is repressing your memories, Newton. It is, from what I understand, a sentient mass of external influences, not created by your own mind, and therefore, not truly a part of it that we can influence. As long as it holds enough power in your mind, you will not be able to unlock that unconscious."

Shit. That makes a lot of sense, in an annoying, theoretically sound and likely correct way.

"So, what?” Newt sulks. “I'm just fucked unless we stumble across external evidence that helps to trigger the memories?"

She shakes her head. "Not entirely. I propose that what's allowing this hivemind to exert this much control is partially to do with very real cognitive distortions and mental maladaptations that are reducing your intellectual resilience. I'd also say that if we find ways to increase your mental resilience by creating new and healthy belief systems and thought patterns, it may help you to overcome the hivemind's control, allowing you to dispute the hivemind's influence."

Healthy belief systems. Right. Newt and healthy belief systems have never really seen eye to eye. "Alright...” he says. “So, what are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting an examination," she replies, "of your past experiences and how they have led to the ways you think about yourself. A re-examination, in your case, as you've likely already thought very long and hard about certain things and have made decisions about how to slot those events into your mental calculation of your sense of self. And we’ll identify the origin of some of your cognitive distortions, and perhaps find a new perspective and ways to dispute them. So, some psychodynamic mixed with a little cognitive behavioral, if you need the theoretical basis, which, of course, I suspect you do. Does that sound like something you might be interested in?"

"That’s… yeah, I’d like that.” A thought occurs to him, something that he should’ve considered when brainstorming this theoretical proposal. “The only problem is, how do I even tell if it's a real memory? Not something manufactured by the hivemind?"

Dr. Ayoade nods. "We'll begin at the beginning. Establish your history, and your patterns. If you discover that something we discussed is just a hivemind distortion, then we can re-examine it at a later point. But we can't operate from the idea that every single memory you have is a distorted one. You are still recognizable by those you are close to as the same individual. Or do you not agree? You're certainly allowed to. It's simply my personal hypothesis."

Newt considers the evidence she's laid out before him. He's sort of pissed, really, that Hadiyya managed to find a therapist who understands how he works this quickly, groks to his chaotically scientific need to analyze, debate and experiment. No pesky entreaties to explain how the hivemind 'makes him feel,' as if it isn't entirely obvious that he feels washed out, drained, dissonant and a shell of his former self.

No, they'll perform a meta-analysis of his life, collecting data points to conceptualize a 'theory of Newton,' and maybe along the way some of the analysis of those data points will be shifted, and new conclusions drawn.

"Okay," he says, agreement tentative.

Giving away the keys to the kingdom known as ‘Newt’s mind’ isn't the most comfortable scenario, and not just because of the alien fuckers who broke through the castle gate and were gorging themselves on his mental reserves before the cavalry arrived in the form of a gangly mathematician. That one stint in therapy as a teenager was brief for a reason, an in and out focus on cognitive behavioral, changing thought patterns. He hadn't wanted to dive deeper, and the counselor hadn't pushed him. With Dr. Ayoade, with the hivemind, with the last thirtyish years of baggage, he doesn't see derailing and shifting focus as things he'll get away with for very long.

"So, are we in agreement?" She picks up the tablet beside her, scribbling something with her fingertip, probably notes, definitely notes, no, Newt won't demand to see them, even though legally he's allowed, because he's read up on this and clinical notes don't have the nuance to explain what she's really thinking of him, and he'll likely only cause himself an unnecessary adverse reaction by reading them. So, he’s going to do the clinically beneficial thing and resist temptation.

He definitely wants to peek though.

"Agreement?" Newt asks.

"Towards your goals, Newton. The point of these sessions will be to examine past events and patterns, reframe and recontextualize ones that are causing you distress, and construct a better sense of your authentic self to build your mental resilience. Does that sound reasonable to you?"

"Mmmm... yeah. I think I'm okay with that. As long as we're taking it at a pace I'm comfortable with."

"Oh, absolutely. Again, this is about you regaining control, Newton, in whatever way you define it." She pauses, seems to be considering. "How do you define it?"

"Control?"

"Yes. What does control mean to you?"

"I mean, I guess..."

It's such an odd question. How does one define a word that has such an obvious meaning? Control is... well, it's being in charge of where he goes, what he thinks, who he speaks to, what work he does. It's breaking free of the hivemind, it's the ink he injects under his skin in swirling patterns of his own choosing, it's getting six PhDs to prove the labels of 'gifted' and 'genius' aren't unfounded, it's walking out of his mother's house and never looking back, it's leather jackets and square-rimmed glasses and telling a professional dress code to go fuck itself.

It's falling in love with an overly stuffy, pretentious mathematician who breaks down all his barriers, and shows him how much love and desire can be communicated through the words 'I'm coming with you' and an impoverished attempt at a handshake.

"Control means... not wondering if I'm still 'me' anymore," Newt says. "Yeah. That. Knowing that everything up here-" he taps his skull "-isn't just a series of distortions the Precursors shoved in my head for shits and giggles."

Dr. Ayoade smiles. “Alright. Well, let's try to find out what it means to be you, Dr. Geiszler."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the alternate title of this chapter is: Jay uses fanfic as an excuse to geek out over counseling theories for 1700 words.
> 
> See? Posted on Tuesday. I told ya'll I got this :D :D :D


	31. Set You Free: Chapter 11

"I don't think this was here last time," Newt says, looking up at the walls of the greenhouse as Hermann pries open the door.

"No," Hermann says. "It's a recent addition. Mako commissioned it a few years after the war."

Newt follows him into the building, observing the lush foliage and the well-kept cobblestone path that spirals farther into the structure, past clustered meadows of flowers, archways wreathed in vines, and small coves of a diverse variety of trees. He can hear the soft trickling of water in the distance, but no birds or animal sounds of any kind. _It's so quiet in here. The Shatterdome is_ never _quiet, even in the dormitories, fuck this is weird._

Hermann leads them through a tunnel of tall bushes, taller than Newt (though not Hermann), resembling a maze that hides the back of the building from the entrance. When they emerge, they're in front of a garden pond filled with koi fish, with a circular stone patio beside it and a bench on the back of said patio.

"Okay, so, why are we here?" Newt drops onto the bench, shoving his hands into his pockets, then pulling them out again, as he's liable to sweat from the thickness of the material they're made of. He's getting tired of these PPDC issued clothes; his stuff is supposed to be here in the next few days, and whatever they're letting him have, it had better include some of his damned nice jeans and shirts.

"I've been coming here frequently over the past two months," Hermann says. He leans down and takes a box from underneath the bench, then sits down next to Newt. "Today is the forty-ninth day since I began keeping vigil."

"Vigil?"

Hermann glances at him. Newt realizes who Hermann would likely be keeping vigil for.

_Oh, fuck. No, I, I can't do this. I can't._

"Traditionally, the ashes would be interred on the forty-ninth day," Hermann says. "Obviously, we don't have any of those. So, we'll need a compromise."

"Herm..."

"You don't have to do anything, Newt." Hermann rests his hand on Newt's knee, squeezes gently. "I'd just appreciate the company. And if it really becomes too much for you, we’ll leave. Just let me know."

Hermann stands up and shuffles over to one of the stones, sitting down in front of it. Newt stays frozen on the bench, gripping the wooden plank edge. He wants to stay here. No, he wants to run out the damn door, because the air is stifling, and fuck Hermann for springing this shit on him, he can do his own, ridiculous, nonsensical funerary rites, and Newt can’t leave because of this fucking ankle bracelet, so he’ll stay right here, not engaging, in denial, not thinking about her, not thinking about her smile and her laugh and her warmth and her love and-

"What are you _doing_?" Newt asks, cursing the way his voice wobbles on the last word.

Hermann has opened the box and is removing several objects from inside. Too curious for his own good, Newt slides off the bench and squats, then kneels down next to him. There's a ceramic incense holder, incense, matches, and a pocket knife. The rock in front of where Hermann sits reads MORI, but Newt doesn't read the date, averts his eyes. He won't look, can't look, because then it will be real, and she'll, she'll be...

"Would you like to light the incense?" Hermann asks, offering him the matchbook.

Newt takes it, just to have a distraction, something to fiddle with, something to do. He takes the ceramic bowl and threads the end of the stick through the small hole on the side to keep the incense elevated above the ceramic. Meanwhile, he sees Hermann open the pocket knife and begin digging into the packed earth surrounding the stone.

"What are you doing to her stone?" Newt asks. He regrets asking as soon as the words leave his mouth. He can't, he won't, won't acknowledge, this makes it _too real_.

"Well, we're lacking any sort of family tomb, or resting place," Hermann says. "So, I'm improvising."

He keeps scratching at the earth around the stone, which is wide and smooth and rounded towards the edges. When he's loosened up the dirt, he tries to leverage the stone up, but it's hard for him to do from this angle, sitting, where he can't use any of his lower body strength to assist. He abandons the pocket knife for his own fingers, trying to pull the stone up, but he can't seem to get any leverage.

"Here, stop," Newt says, taking the pocket knife and brushing Hermann's hands aside. He pushes the tip into the earth and leverages it underneath the stone, then pushes down. His kneeling position lets him use his upper arm strength, and after a moment of struggle, the stone loosens and slips out of place. Newt picks up the stone and lays it gently aside, revealing packed, smooth dirt beneath.

"Thank you," Hermann says, holding his hand out to take back the knife.

"What are you trying to do?" Newt says, keeping it.

"Dig, of course. I need a hole, about six inches deep and four inches wide." Hermann's hand darts to rest on the pocket of his jacket.

"Fine." Newt digs the knife into the earth and uses an upward motion to scoop dirt to the side.

"You don't have to-"

"Let me." Newt waves a hand at him, signaling that he won't argue. He can dig a hole. Simple thing. He dug plenty of them as a kid. Just digging a hole in the dirt, nothing odd or off about that.

He can feel Hermann's eyes on his profile while he digs, but he doesn't acknowledge it. The dirt stains his hands as it squishes between the knife handle and his fingers, a small mound forming next to the ever-widening hole. He's reminded of an old, childhood favorite book, about a boy forced to dig holes for unknown reasons, and he's kind of in that headspace right now. Though Hermann is much nicer and hotter than the woman who would have left the kids to die in the desert.

"Shouldn't Pentecost be keeping vigil?" Newt asks as he works. The silence is intolerable. Hermann should've brought something along to play music, something appropriately Buddhist in nature, a little _koto_ or _shamisen_ to make the quiet press in less forcefully.

"Jake has his own methods," Hermann says. "Or so he's implied to me. This is my own way of honoring her."

"You're not even religious, Hermann. You don't believe she's- she can't see you doing this." He strikes the earth a bit harder with the knife, swallowing the bubble welling in his throat.

Hermann shrugs. "That isn't the point, I think. These rituals are just as much about bringing comfort to the living as peace to the deceased. I still held Shiva for my mother when she passed. It was soothing. I had no other concerns but remembering her amongst other people who cared for her."

"I was completely out of it at dad's funeral," Newt says, wiping an arm across his face, lest he get dirt in his eyes. "Just, like I was floating out of my body. Almost like how I used to feel when the hivemind exerted itself. And then mom showed up and I had to leave before I screamed at her right in the middle of the funeral home."

"I'm sorry."

Newt sniffs, shrugs. "Family fucking sucks sometimes, doesn't it?"

A hand comes up to cup his cheek, and Newt glances over.

"The one I was born into, yes," Hermann says. "But I quite like the one I've chosen."

Newt smiles and puts the knife down. "Done. What are you going to bury?"

Hermann reaches into his pocket and produces a tiny, plastic figurine of a Jaeger, more specifically, of Brawler Yukon, the first constructed Jaeger. It's a bulky, ugly thing; no one would ever mistake it for one of the modern, sleek models.

"I found this amongst my things," Hermann says, rolling the model between his fingers. "Her father had bought it for her, her, ah, her birth father, and she gave it to me after the Triple Event. We were both shipping off to different Shatterdomes, you see, and she wanted to give me something to remember her by... Like I could _ever_ forget her."

His voice cracks, and Newt wants to pull him in, hold him, soothe him, but his own hands are shaking, tears welling in the corners of his own eyes.

Hermann reaches into is other pocket, pulling out a second model, this time of a bipedal kaiju, Karloff, whom Yukon defeated.

"I was supposed to give this to you when I saw you again," Hermann continues. "You left so quickly, and I suppose she assumed I'd see you again before she would. But then ten years passed, and they ended up buried in a box. I only remembered having them this week."

"Can I...?"

Hermann holds the figurine out to Newt, who takes it, cradling it in his hands. It's a trashy little model, mass manufactured back in the late 2010s for young children to play with, a genocidal monster turned into a collectible. _Something something humanity's death wish_ , Newt thinks. The colors are faded, and one of the legs looks like it's about to come off. But it was Mako's. Given of love by her father to her and passed the same way to them.

"I miss her so much, Herm," Newt whispers, turning the toy over between his fingers. His voice cracks, everything threatens to well over. "It's like a knife in the gut, every fucking day, you know? If I hadn't... If I'd been careful, less egotistical-"

"Newton. No. Stop it." Hermann wraps a hand around the back of Newt's neck and tugs him closer, pressing their foreheads together. "She would not want you to think that way."

Newt shakes his head, breaths coming shorter, faster, panic rising in his chest. "I can't just switch it off, dude! You think I want to do this? I go through every fucking day, trying to remember the last thing I said to her as myself. I _can't remember_ , Hermann! Did we fight, or was it something happy? When was the last time I told her I loved her? Did she start doubting that because I stopped saying it?

He keeps going, as he said, he can't switch it off now. "And I just, I remember standing on that deck in Sydney, and all I wanted to do was call out to both of you, tell you both how badly I missed you, but I can't with her, Hermann, I can't! Because she's _gone_!"

Hermann pulls Newt fast to his chest, and Newt's breath shudders, tears rolling in fat, sharp lines down his cheeks. He curses at how easily he cries nowadays, he never used to be like this. Or maybe he just never had anyone he felt comfortable enough to be this vulnerable around.

Hermann's body is shaking as badly as Newt's, and his breath is coming in hard stops as he whispers 'I'm sorry' repeatedly in Newt's ear.

They make quite the pair of useless idiots, crying over plastic figurines and holes in the ground, and a dead woman who they loved as deeply and fiercely as one another.

After a time, their breathing calms. The tears stop coming. Hermann's hand strokes up and down Newt's spine, and Newt curses this feeling of weakness, this trauma he can't run from, this need he has for comfort that Hermann is so willing to provide. It's not fair; Hermann shouldn't have to always be the one doing the soothing, and Newt needing to receive it.

 _Where's your spunk, dude_ , Newt thinks, wiping his eyes. _Where's that punk rock attitude?_

"I'm sorry," Newt mumbles, sitting back. "I'm a fucking mess, Herms. Jesus, this is what I'm paying a therapist for, not you."

"Don't ever apologize for being open with me, Newton," Hermann replies, wiping his own face. Newt politely ignores the redness that now halos his eyes. "And, er, you're not."

"Not?"

"Paying for therapy."

Newt frowns. "What?"

"They seized your assets," Hermann says. "A few weeks ago. Claimed they all fell under the category of genocidal profiteering. As if the military doesn't regularly engage in that sort of thing."

Newt blinks. "So, I'm broke? Then how-?"

"Dr. Ayoade sees multiple clients on the base, so her funding is partially paid by the health care funding of the PPDC. They've gotten better at that in the last several years because of Mako pushing for more mental health services. She saw what a lack of proper trauma therapy did to Raleigh, and to herself.

"As to the remainder of her fee..." Hermann shrugs, looking a bit embarrassed. "Call it an investment in my concern for your well-being."

"...So you're my mental health sugar daddy?"

Hermann snorts, covering his face with a hand. "If you must put it that way."

"Yeah, I _must_."

Newt sniffs and looks down at the plastic kaiju, still clenched in his fist. He lifts it, presses a kiss to its head, and then lowers it into the hole. Hermann repeats the gesture with his Jaeger figurine, and then drops it in as well. Newt's hands are already filthy, so he uses them to push the mound of dirt back into the hole, filling it, and then packing down the dirt as much as possible to regain the flat surface. Hermann takes the stone and slides it back into place.

The incense has gone out. Newt leans back on his hands and looks up through the glass ceiling, towards the bright, sunny sky, filled with puffy clouds. He remembers the weather being similar the last time he saw Mako walk away from him. No omen of what was to come.

"I miss her, Hermann."

"As do I, Newton. As do I. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never Forget Mako Mori.


	32. Set You Free: Chapter 12

It's always lovely to do a bit of city hopping. Jake's been all over the world at this point, between the Jaeger program, running smuggling operations out of half-destroyed metropolises, and spending his meager living chasing after engaging experiences, whether that be cliff diving off the La Quebrada Cliffs in Acapulco (watching, not participating, he's not _that_ foolhardy), polyamorous orgies in the darkened basements of Amsterdam, or tasting the best fucking _mozzarella di bufala_ in the bloody world in Athens. Jake loves "new and novel experiences," as his therapist had told him at 14 after he'd tried his one-man-Jaeger-pilot dare. The implication had been he should probably cool it a bit, but well, _jog off, mate_. Life's too short and there are too many amazing things he hasn't done.

Sitting on a transport as it descends into the Los Angeles airspace isn't new or novel. He's found himself strolling the decaying superhighways several times in the past, though there is the newness of Nate being there with him, snoring softly, strapped into the seat across from him. The man passed out about an hour into the flight and hasn't shifted his position the entire time.

Jake knows it's all been hard on Nate. In a few short months, he's gone from running the Jaeger pilot program, to having to step up and lead all operations at the Hong Kong Shatterdome (lots of dead administrative officials left a lot of balls up in the air), in addition to conferencing with the PPDC council over launching a new Jaeger development program that will create Jaegers that can survive the Anteverse environment. They've only got the scant, momentary readings from Raleigh and Gypsy Danger ten years back to start with, but the atmospheric conditions and potential differentiating laws of physics will make this a massive, years long project before they can attempt to re-open the Breach. Oh, right, they also need to figure out how to reopen the Breach, though poring through Liwen Shao's corrupted code is certainly helping expedite the process.

So, Jake gets why Nate always looks so tired. Mate could use several dozen naps by this point.

_I'm a fantastic pillow_ , Jake thinks, sighing a bit. _Been reviewed by several gals and blokes on the subject._

Jake has no official reason to tag along for this jaunt. Unofficially, however, he's got a mission. Nate knows about the mission. Nate approves of the mission.

Jules assured him before he left, _I am completely capable of handling the kiddos without you around, bro_. Christ, that woman is growing on him, natch. She takes nobody's shit, she's bested him in hand-to-hand on a few occasions, and her favorite conversation topic is 'ways we can make Nate stop being a complete knob for ten minutes and learn to relax.' Really, she's perfect, and he'd ask her out in a heartbeat.

However, she's made several things clear: a) she doesn't date co-workers, b) she's not much into the whole 'intercourse' part of relationships (which, not for nothing, makes up like seventy-five percent of what he enjoys about relationships), and c) she thinks he's keener on other members of the team than he is on her. Which, well...

Nate's mouth is slightly open, and his head is tilted back against the seat. Jake has a baggie of sugary cereal he nicked from the kitchens as a flight snack. These two facts lead to kernels of red and blue being flicked across the interior of the transport, and when one finally lands in Nate's mouth, he startles awake, snorting and blinking at Jake, bleary eyed.

"...wazzat really necessary," Nate slurs, munching on the puff and swallowing. Jake watches Nate's Adam's apple bob and has a few inappropriate thoughts about how he'd like his mouth and that particular bit of Nate's anatomy to make friends.

"Eh, I was bored, and they charge extra for the in-flight movies. This, on the other hand, is free entertainment." Jake aims a puff at Nate's nose, hitting it square on.

Nate twitches, holding a hand out, palm up. "Share, at least. I haven't eaten a square meal in almost twenty-four hours."

"Ranger Lambert, you must take better care of yourself," Jake says, dropping his voice to imitate his father as he tips the baggie upside down and deposits a handful of cereal into Nate's palm. "How can you hope to lead these impressionable young Jaeger pilots if you aren't constantly downing protein shakes and swelling your massive muscles to an inhumanly disproportionate size?"

"My muscles are perfectly proportional, thanks." Nate snatches the baggie in a lightning quick move that leaves Jake befuddled, jealous, and maybe a mite bit turned on. He watches as the other man pulls the baggie fully open and tips as much cereal down his gullet as possible.

"You ate all my cereal," Jake huffs, whipping out two plastic wrapped packages of peanut-butter crackers. "Now I'm not sharing the rest."

"I am your commanding officer," Nate says. "I order you to give me those."

Jake blows a raspberry at him and sits back, out of Nate's grasp.

"You've never been able to command me for shit," Jake replies, tearing open one of the packages. He can practically see the primal reaction Nate has to smelling the peanut butter, even though it's dry and tacky and these are cheap-as-hell crackers that taste like Jake imagines crayons do. It doesn't matter because it's food, and Nate has gone without. Jake is holding all the bargaining chips. "Now say pretty please with that pretty mouth, an' maybe you'll get one."

Nate shakes his head, smiling. "It's called willpower, Jake. I've got it, you don't." He sits back upright against the seat and closes his eyes. "I'll just wait until we land."

His stomach warbles an angry response.

The second packet of crackers smacks Nate across the face.

"Just take them already, I can't listen to that for another twenty minutes," Jake says.

Nate picks up the packet and tears it open. "It's not like I was trying to forget to eat. I spent three hours double-checking our requisitions for the month, four hours reviewing Ms. Shao's progress on breach-opening tech, and I've had half a dozen meetings with various international figures, news and media outlets, who all want to know whether the infamous Dr. Geiszler has awoken from Precursor possession, and whether I believe he's truly innocent, and what the PPDC plans on doing with him, and oh, Ranger Lambert! This is such and such from Us Weekly! Is it true that Dr. Geiszler fell in love with a Kaiju brain after Dr. Gottlieb abandoned him, and now he's trying to champion inter-dimensional-species marriage rights?"

"Somebody actually asked you that?" Jake asks. "Like, just outright, no brain damage or nothin’?"

"Yeah, well Geiszler definitely wanted to fuck a Kaiju at some point," Nate mutters. "Bless Dr. Gottlieb. He's a living saint."

Jake cackles and tosses him the rest of his own cracker packet. "Oh, mate, you deserve a reward for saying that highly unprofessional opinion out loud. This is all I can offer right now, though. Hey, if I stuck a paper on Dr. Geiszler's back that read _This Man Wants to Fuck A Kaiju,_ d'you think it would lift some of the horribly depressing atmosphere we've all been swimming in the last few months? I'm certainly up for tryin' it."

Nate shakes his head. "You're not allowed to tell anyone I said that, or I'll get an earful from Dr. Gottlieb. In fact, I'm ordering you to keep that to yourself, as your-"

"-my commanding officer, right," Jake snorts. "Y'know, maybe someday I'll actually obey your orders."

"Yeah? When will that happen?"

"When you've figured out the context in which I'll follow 'em."

Nate frowns, and Jake can see the gears turning, Nate puzzling out the tiniest bits of breadcrumb trail Jake is tossing out there, bit by bit, hopefully ending in Jake's bunk, Jake down on his knees, shouting _sir, yes, sir!_ while a very specific part of Nate stands at attention.

_Hmm, or maybe he needs to follow while I lead for once_ , Jake thinks, considering Nate on his knees as well.

"Alright, listen," Nate says, popping the last cracker into his mouth. "When we land, I'm going right to the councilor meeting. That means you're only going to have an hour, maybe two to find what we're looking for. You're sure Akiko will help you?"

Jake nods. "I landed here a few years back and met her at a bar. She's a bit of a nut for everything related to what my dad and sis did, bought me a few drinks in exchange for some stories. Then a few more drinks, and one thing lead to another, and well..."

"So, you're trusting an ex-fling with Dr. Geiszler's welfare?"

"Relax, Lambert. We kept in touch, and she's the one who decided it'd be a one-time thing. Apparently, she likes my stories more than my magnificent, sexy body."

Nate scowls, eyes flicking over to the cockpit door. Jake grins, because Nate looked away just a little too fast there, like he wasn't trying to gauge whether Jake did, in fact, have said sort of body. _I saw that, ya sneaky bastard. Follow the breadcrumbs, come on._

"I'm just saying," Nate continues. "She might betray us."

"I'm pretty good at reading people, Nate, my mate. She's alright. Cross m' heart, promise," Jake says, making an X over his chest with his forefinger.

They feel the transport touch the ground with a heavy _thud_. Jake clicks his harness seat belt open and jumps up, stretching out his limbs, cracking his back, yawning wide-mouthed. "Mmm, much better, I was startin' to cramp up in m' legs there."

Nate also stands, twisting his upper body left, then right, rubbing his eyes. Slept four hours and he still looks tired. Jake wonders when the last time was he had a full night's sleep. He wonders, and admits he worries a bit. Nate has never been good at letting people in when he needs someone else to share the burden.

Maybe it's to do with Nate having to go it by himself for a long time when he was younger, in and out of foster care, right until the Jaeger program. Jake remembers him being so shy and defensive the first couple months, throwing himself into proving to the Senior Pentecost that he could handle everything they put him through, but ignoring any outreach for friendship. Jake hadn't understood it, how could you go through life not making friends, making connections?

And then one of the older boys had gotten smart with Nate, tried to rough him up, and Nate wasn't shy about defending himself, but he was still scrawny at that point. But before the older boy could make mincemeat out of him, Jake had jumped into the fray, too cocky as the son of the commander to be afraid of expulsion, wanting to prove he wasn't just in this program because of his dad. They'd driven off the other boy, and laughed and joked and bonded over it, and then suddenly they were spending all their time together.

Dad had told him, "I'm glad that you've made friends with Nathan, you all need each other if this is going to work."

Except Jake didn't want Nate as a friend because they were drift compatible, or to help 'the cause'. Jake just liked Nate: quiet but driven, scrawny, discerning and focused, the opposite of everything Jake felt he was. The scrawny part has changed, as Jake can attest to by the wicked view he gets every time Nate takes off his shirt in the locker rooms. But, anyway, Nate was a good guy, helped keep him level, grounded, listened when Jake talked about his mum and how she'd passed when he was quite young, then talked about his own folks and how they had abandoned him to the system. Nate was always there to share a joke, talk about a pretty lass (or lad, Jake had known his preferences early and Nate had been accepting and not a tosser), sneak food out of the kitchens, or stay up into the late hours and just talk.

Nate moves to stand in front of the transport door, and Jake stares at his back, Nate's form silhouetted in the bright beaming sunlight as the door swishes open.

_I didn't want to leave,_ Jake thinks. _I missed you as much as Mako or Dad. At least they had each other. Who did you have when I was gone?_

Jake follows him out onto the deck of the Los Angeles Shatterdome. The sun is a brilliant yellow point in a clear, cloudless blue sky, the metal under Jake's feet heated and likely to melt the rubber of his boots if he stands here too long. The Shatterdome itself towers above them like a great pointed obelisk that leans ever so slightly to the left (most people probably don’t notice, but Jake’s got some mad good spatial awareness. In another world, another life, maybe he’d be designing skyscrapers instead of using them as battle-rams against intergalactic monsters, and doing a better job designing things with long term structural integrity than whatever knob threw this slapdash piece of crap together).

They walk towards the main entrance, passing dozens of milling soldiers, engineers, medics, laborers, officials, and head towards the small group of four people standing in front of the entrance, looking to be waiting for them. There's a tall, blond-haired white bloke with a sharp nose and somber features: the Russian councilor. A much shorter, just-as-somber-looking woman stands to his left: the Japanese councilor, Mako's new replacement. Jake can't help but feel bitter at seeing her there instead of Mako; it's not her fault, but still. She isn't _Mako_. The Chinese councilor stands to the other side of the Russian councilor, taller than the Japanese woman, with hair tucked up in a bun that reminds Jake of Ms. Shao's usual look. Perhaps it's a popular style, now that Ms. Shao is being hailed as one of the new saviors of mankind (he's seen plenty of people sporting his own 'do, the short curls with the side-stripe shaven off, even a few white dudes who couldn't pull off the curls but could the stripe, which is... both flattering but also a mite bit appropriative). The final individual stands at a height between the Russian and Chinese councilors. He's another white bloke, blond-haired, blue eyed, square-jawed and so American-looking, Jake imagines their national anthem playing every time he opens his mouth. He looks like one of those blokes whose picture you pull out of a new frame you bought, as inoffensive and forgettable of an image as possible.

"Councilors," Nate says, folding his hands behind his back and standing at attention. "Good to see you all. I expect you all know who Ranger Pentecost is."

"Very happy to meet you," the Russian councilor says, holding a hand out for Jake to shake. "Andrei Kuznetsov."

"Sakura Miyamoto," says the Japanese councilor.

"Chun Wei," says the Chinese councilor.

"And I'm Admiral Calvin Jefferson," says the American councilor, accent caught between one-of-those-northeastern-cities bred, but mid-western born. "We're all pleased to meet you, of course, but what are you doing here?"

"Coordination with Commander Beckett," Jake says, and it's not exactly a lie. He's going to meet Raleigh after taking care of business, it's a good cover story. "We're discussing more cross-Shatterdome coordination of the various Jaeger pilot programs. Makin' sure everything is standardized."

Jefferson shoots him a look, one of those nodding, wide smiles that implies _I don't believe you in the slightest_. Jake smiles back, disliking the guy already.

"Shall we?" Nate asks, glancing at Jake for a moment, saying _don't start anything_ with his eyes. When the councilors turn towards the entrance, Nate mouths _be quick_ to him, and then follows them inside.

Jake turns back to the deck for a moment, pretending to inspect and admire the various American Jaegers stationed there: Screaming Eagle, Spangled Rodeo, and Golden Liberty. Really, he just needs the councilors to leave, since he knows the requisition office is the opposite way of the Ranger quarters. There are people staring at him as they pass, so he shrugs his hood up over his face, not wanting to call attention to himself. He did just sort've save the world and all that.

After about a minute, he strolls into the building lobby. A rounded, high-domed ceiling stretches upwards, overlaid with holographic images: Jaeger bios, PPDC history, propaganda posters, notices to those living on the base. In the center of the room stands a molded, bronze statue. Gypsy Danger, looming large over the crowds shuffling through the entrance, with a poor rendering of Raleigh Beckett in front of her, hands on his hips in a triumphant pose. Mako sits in the background, on Gypsy's shoulder, while Raleigh glimmers in spotlight. _Saviors of the Triple Event!_ reads the plaque.

_Americans_ , Jake thinks, glaring at the statue. _Always think they're the center of the bloody universe_.

He moves past the statue, flashing his Shatterdome badge at the guard. It used to be that he'd have to fill out paperwork and wait ages to be granted access to the inner workings of other Shatterdomes. Mako changed that, streamlined and coordinated the processes, breaking down barriers that prevented them from operating as a fully efficient, globalized organization. _Should've built a dozen statutes of her for saving all those trees_.

Down, down into the depths of the base. He takes the stairs, hating the old, creaky elevators of this Shatterdome. After pumping all their money into the Wall of Hope, the LA Shatterdome was in half-deconstructed pieces upon its reinstatement after the Triple Event. The focus of the rebuild was on Jaeger output, not repair or refurbishment of the ‘dome itself. It reminds Jake of what the Hong Kong ‘dome looked like, when it was the last one, maximizing all available funding on training pilots and building Jaegers. Nowadays, the Hong Kong tech and the overall livability has improved drastically.

When he reaches the bottom, he trots down a long hallway that looks like something out of the _Alien_ movies: dark, foreboding, a bit slimy.

_You already beat the real monsters_ , Jake thinks, stepping over a pile of broken circuitry. _And they aren't tiny enough to fit down here._

The door at the end opens to a security room. There's a beat-up wooden desk in the middle, with a chain link fence separating the back half of the room and the dozens of shelves, carts, racks and tables lined in a haphazard show of order. On these shelves, carts, racks, and tables are all manner of things. Piles of shirts, pants, socks, mountains of books, clusters of dead mobile phones, stacks of files, broken musical instruments, rows of suitcases and duffel bags, half assembled furniture tossed together, a pile of single shoes missing the other half, smashed monitors, tables covered with swords and knives, a drawer labeled CONFISCATED DILDOS (why were they confiscated? _how_ were they confiscated?) and some fishing poles snapped in half. That's just a sprinkling of what's behind the fence.

In front of the fence, feet propped up on the wooden desk, dressed in a blue jumpsuit and sipping coffee, is a woman, a very familiar woman, with short, bobbed black hair. She's reading off a tablet, music blaring through the tinny speakers.

" _Akiiiiiiko_ ," Jake calls, pushing his hood back.

The woman lifts her head.

" _Jake!_ " she yells. In a flash, she's on her feet, tablet tossed to the desk, gripping him in a bear hug with some bloody _powerful_ forearms.

"Have you been workin' out?" he asks, grinning as she lifts him slightly off the ground.

"Only slightly. There's nothing to do here and people seem to never reclaim the weight-lifting equipment they lose." Akiko puts him down, stepping back, grinning. "You look great! Of course you do, _hero of MegaTokyo_ and all that."

"Ehhh, I usually give the kid most of the credit," Jake says, shrugging. He grins when she gives him a look. "Alright, alright, it was definitely mostly me."

"What are you even doing here?" Akiko asks, hopping up onto the desk. "Aren't you too big name now to fraternize with the little people?"

"M' da was Stacker Pentecost, Kik. My celebrity has gone from 'son of legend' to 'actual legend,’ but it's not as big of a change as you'd think." Jake picks up the tablet, looking at the screen.

" _Shinji Kawaii_ , they're a new J-Electro-Trap group," Akiko says, tapping the pause on the music. "You probably haven't heard of them."

"Definitely not. Listen, I'd love to catch up, but I need a favor."

"Oh? What can I do to help?"

Jake motions to the fenced off area. "So that's the lost and found, but I know you keep records on the 'lost and never found' things that go missing and are important enough to be noticed."

Akiko nods. "Sure do. Anything goes missing that shouldn't, we log it in the database."

"Ace," Jake says, giving her some thumbs up. "That's exactly what I'm looking for."

"Jake, I can't just let you peruse confidential military records. It's not like you inherited your dad or sis's military clearances. My condolences, by the way."

"Thanks. And I know. But it's important. Serving justice sort of important. Saving an innocent man's life and all that."

"What do you mean?" Akiko leans in, and if there's one thing Jake knows about Akiko, she's a sucker for a good story about a wrong that needs righting.

So, he tells her about Dr. Geiszler's possession, how the man was being controlled and forced against his will, how Hermann and he suspect there's more to the story than what Dr. Geiszler remembers. And knowing she's also a bit of a sucker for romances, he mentions their torrid, decades long yearning for each other, how Hermann risked everything to bring Dr. Geiszler back, and how, if they don't find the proof they need, Dr. Geiszler is a goner.

Jake knows he's a snazzy storyteller, because by the end, Akiko has one hand pressed to her mouth, eyes wide in horror.

"That's why I need your help, Kik," Jake says. "Hermann's a good friend, and Dr. Geiszler is his whole world. I don't think he'll survive it if they throw the book at him."

Akiko nods, tapping her lip with her forefinger. "You know I'm always up for a good bit of justice-making. And I suppose an annual review of what’s still missing is part of my job description... Alright. What are you looking for?"

"Dr. Geiszler said that he had the Kaiju brain stolen a few weeks after the Triple Event," Jake explains. "If that happened, it'd definitely show up somewhere in the records."

"They're not just gonna put 'Kaiju brain' on a list, Jake," Akiko says, hopping off the desk. "Hold on. Let me get the database."

She unlocks the cage and disappears behind some shelves. When she comes back, she's carrying a thin laptop. It’s probably a decade old and runs Windows 12 or something of that sort.

"Let me check the records around June of 2025," Akiko says, tapping on the keyboard. She works quietly for a few moments, and then swivels the laptop around towards him. "Anything look familiar?"

Jake looks over the list, but nothing pops out at him, and he shrugs.

"Hold on," Akiko says. "If the Kaiju brain was here in the first place, there would've been records of its collection. Let me see..."

She pulls the keyboard back, types for a few more moments, and then shows him again. This time, there's an entry that is instantly recognizable.

"Wait, I think it's that, but that don't make a bit of sense..." Jake frowns.

"Why not?" Akiko asks.

On the screen, listed as CONTAINED and dated June 23rd, 2025, is an item listed only as "Alice."

"It was called that before he got it? That's... uncomfortably coincidental," Jake says. "So, Dr. Geiszler was correct about it being brought in, and it was definitely transferred to this Shatterdome. But we need to find out if it was ever removed, legally or not."

Akiko nods. "I've got some records on the item, thankfully whoever did data entry back in the day was meticulous about everything important that came in and out of the 'dome." She clicks on the entry, and two lists pop up. One documents the Kaiju brain's transfer and return to the high-security holding warehouse, dozens of times between June 2025 and September 2027. The last entry lists the item as WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN. The second list is very short, titled INVOLVED PROJECTS, with one entry.

"Project Alice?" Jake says.

"No, look, it's an acronym. A.L.I.C.E." Akiko points to the dots.

"Can you open up any details about it?" Jake asks.

Akiko tries, but a box pops up on screen, CLEARANCE LEVEL 8.

"Way above my pay grade, man," Akiko says. "Sorry."

Jake curses in his head. _So close. Hermann and Geiszler are right, there's something we're missing._

"If I could get a copy of these, that'd be great," Jake says. "And before you sweat about gettin' in trouble for helping me out, tag it to this ID." He tosses Akiko a key card. She turns it over and frowns.

"Nathan Lambert. Who is this white boy?"

"A friend," Jake replies. "With high-security-clearance benefits."

"Hmmm... Are those the only benefits?" Akiko asks, tapping the card to the reader to log onto his profile.

"Unfortunately, at the moment, yeah."

Akiko snorts, raising an eyebrow. "You had no trouble being forward with me. What's the deal with him?"

"Eh, we go back," Jake says, holding out a micro-chip, something she can store the data on for him. "History makes things messy."

"He trusts you with his security clearance card. I wouldn't trust my own boyfriend with mine. Or my girlfriend. It can't be _that_ messy."

"Are you playin' matchmaker on me?"

"Mmm, I get really bored down here, Jake."

"Couldn't tell, natch."

Jake thanks her for the info, jokingly offers a few sexual favors in return on the way out, and ducks one of the unpaired shoes she throws at his head as he leaves.

"Go offer that nonsense to your white boy!" she calls after him.

When Jake gets to the top floor, his phone pings, finally getting service again. He taps the screen and a holographic overlay of one message from Nate pops up in front of his face.

TRANSPORT NOW. THEY'RE ARRESTING GEISZLER.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Jake chapter! Always nice to get a new perspective. Also sorry (not sorry) for the cliffhanger. I'll try to post the next chapter on Saturday or Sunday so I'm not leaving you all hanging (HAH oh god that was awful) for long.


	33. Set You Free: Chapter 13

Hermann is soldiering delicate wiring when a lancing shot of terror washes over his mind. A moment later, his phone buzzes.

"-absolutely no need for that!" Illia is shouting on the end of the line. Hermann hears scuffling, banging, and his heart drops into his stomach.

"Where are you?" Hermann yells into the phone before Illia has a chance to speak. Because he doesn't need to explain what’s happening. Hermann knows what's going on. _We've run out of time, oh god!_

His cane is resting against the table, and it clatters to the ground as he snatches for it. Cursing, he grips the edge of the table, grabs it, and hoists himself up, pain almost making him buckle. The fear Newt is sending him is palpable, he can taste it on his tongue, and the buzzing is ringing in his ears as he hurries out of the lab.

"-heading towards the flight deck, Hermann! They're blocking me from leaving my suite!" Illia yells into the phone. "Isn't Ranger Lambert in Los Angeles right now?"

_No, please, no_ , Hermann thinks, run-walking as fast as he's able to down the hall, cursing the car that took his stride away thirty years ago, praying as only an atheist can that Illia is wrong, because Lambert is the de facto Marshall at this point, and he's the only thing standing between Newt and transferal. If they take him now, while Lambert isn't here...

_They waited_ , Hermann thinks, lunging into the elevator and slamming the button for the ground floor. _They waited for this moment. Probably knew they could walk all over whomever he’s left in charge, process and push everything through. We should have been more careful!_

The elevator ride is painfully, horrifyingly long, and Hermann practically falls out of it when the doors swish open, gasping and pushing himself forward. He can hear shouting and sees a commotion as he rounds the corner.

_"NEWTON!_ " Hermann shouts, and a figure freezes, caught up amongst the restraining arms of four other individuals, all dressed in black.

"Hermann!" Newt shouts back, looking so utterly _relieved_ to see him. His arms are pulled tight behind his back, his heels digging into the grating of the floor. A cut above his eyebrow leaks blood, his glasses hang askew, and his t-shirt is torn down the front.

Hermann stands in the center of the hallway, the exit to the flight deck at his back. He shifts his weight to his good leg, and grips his cane between both hands, though what he could possibly do here, he doesn't know. He just knows that if he doesn't do _something_ , they're going to put Newt on a transport and Hermann will never see him again.

The group moves towards him, dragging Newt, who begins to struggle again.

"Get off of me, you fuckin' facist dickheads!" Newt yells. "Who gave you orders?"

When they reach Hermann, they stop, though he assumes as a courtesy, as they could likely barrel right through him.

"Dr. Gottlieb," one of them says. "We were told you might object, but you need to step aside. Dr. Geiszler is being transferred to the council's custody to await trial."

"This is a farce," Hermann says, wanting to swing his cane at the man's face. "Show me the orders."

"This isn't your-"

"I'm his _bloody attorney_ , alright?" Everyone stares at Hermann, even Newt. "Er, isn't that right, Newton? I have a say if that's true."

"Actually," a cool, deeply feminine voice says from behind him, " _I_ am Dr. Geiszler's attorney. And I'm going to need to see those orders."

Hermann turns around. A Chinese woman stands behind him in the entrance, dressed in a superbly tailored red suit and pencil skirt combination, hair cut to her shoulders, eyeliner winged out so far as to make her gaze seem predatory, heels as high and sharp as icicles formed in a cold-snap. Her shoulders are broad, but her gaze is focused, pinpoint intensity that could burn ants on hot concrete.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" Hermann asks.

"Mingxia Xié. I'm a defense attorney, Dr. Newton Geiszler's, to be exact."

"How many attorneys do you have?" asks one of the guys holding Newt.

"More than I assumed- er, I mean, her! She's my attorney!" Newt says, squirming.

Ms. Xié smiles. "Very good, Dr. Geiszler. Gentlemen, please put down my client. He won't be running off, will you, Dr. Geiszler?"

"Yeah, I'm cool," Newt says. "Cool as a cucumber. So, so cool."

Hermann isn't quite sure if they listen because Newt stops struggling, or because this mystery woman is just that compelling, but the men let Newt onto his feet, holding his shoulders. Now Hermann can see the handcuffs restraining him, and a rush of anger comes over him, because he knows how Newt feels about non-consensual bindings of any sort; too many bad, recent memories. He can still feel the other man's fear, and so he tries to send comfort, imagines himself holding Newt close, muttering soothing words in his ear. Newt glances at him then, must feel something that Hermann is trying to project, because he gives a pained but hopeful smile.

The one man who was talking to Hermann pulls out a stack of papers and hands it over. Ms. Xié unfolds it with a sharp snap, eyes skimming over the orders, face writ with calculation.

"Americans claiming authority here, huh," she says. "Of course. 'Concern for Dr. Geiszler's well-being if prevented from the rights afforded to him as a citizen of the United States', I see..."

"Oh my god," Newt groans, "we are always the bad guys, why are we always the bad guys? This is, like, payback for all those 80s movies where we stereotyped the Russians."

"Well?" says the JACRO officer. "Are you happy?"

Ms. Xié squints and tears the papers in half.

"First of all," she says, jabbing the man in the chest, "Dr. Geiszler must choose to invoke citizenship sanctuary, and I see no documentation stating as such. Secondly, Dr. Geiszler is a dual citizen, holding German and US passports, so he is afforded the protection of both nations, but that also requires both nations to agree for his transfer to occur. Which would mean the German councilor would have needed to sign this, and he has not."

"You still have a German citizenship?" Hermann asks, dumbfounded.

Newt shrugs. "I only have to re-up it every ten years. Dual citizenship status is handy. Y'know, if I was ever planning to move there."

"You don't speak a lick of the language!"

" _Ich weiß jetzt ein bisschen, mein Schatz_ ," Newt replies, going pink when Hermann gapes at him. "I, uh, I've been practicing."

" _Für mich?_ " Hermann asks.

Newt nods, smiling fondly at him.

" _Du wundervoller Mann_ ," Hermann says, smiling back.

"Gentlemen, _please_ ," Ms. Xié says. She turns to the guards. "Now, here's what is going to happen. You are going to bring us to a private room where I can consult with my client. Then I'm going to be put on the phone with both councilors, as well as whomever else on the council agreed to this underhanded way of handling custody of a man who has, might I remind you, _yet to be convinced of any crimes_. Dr. Gottlieb will be accompanying us, as he is also my client."

"Dr. Gottlieb isn't being charged with anything," the man says.

"I never said he was," Ms. Xié replies. "Will you try to argue with a lawyer over the nuances of the international criminal court system? Decide."

The JACRO officers look between themselves, and then the leader shakes his head.

"Alright," he says. "Let's go."

Hermann meets eyes with this woman who suddenly appeared like a _deus ex machina_ , but her face is unreadable, she simply motions for him to follow the JACRO officers. They pile into the elevator, taking it down three flights, back down to the holding cells. Hermann stands as close to Newt as he can in the elevator, wanting to touch him, some form of contact comfort, but the best he can do is be near, keep within Newt's line of sight, and send him reassuring glances.

The hallway off the elevator splits left and right. To the right are the cells, but they turn left, towards the interrogation rooms. The guards open the first room, but Ms. Xié shakes her head.

"Nothing with a one-way mirror," she says, pointing to the far wall. "Counsel is guaranteed privacy. Keep going."

They go instead into the last room, which is simply a concrete room with a metal table and three chairs. The table is bolted to the floor, and a short bar juts up from the middle of it. One of the guards unlocks one of Newt's handcuffs, relocking it around the bar, so he's at least no longer bound with his arms behind him.

"There's going to be a guard posted outside," the man says. "No one leaves this room without an escort." Then the four guards file out, shutting the door.

Hermann immediately drops into the chair next to Newt and pulls him close, hugging him tightly.

" _Mein Schatz_ ," he murmurs, kissing his cheek. " _Haben sie dich irgendwo, verletzt, wo ich es nicht sehen kann?_ "

"Umm, I've only been studying it a week, Herms," Newt mutters back. "Try that in English."

"Apologies," Hermann says, leaning back. The cut above Newt’s eye has stopped bleeding, but he wets his thumb and wipes away as much of the dried blood as he can. "Any other injuries I should be aware of?"

"Other than my wounded dignity, no," Newt replies.

Hermann glances up at Ms. Xié, who pulls out a small electronic device and places it on the table. When she flicks a button, a wash of white noise fills the space.

"Explain yourself," Hermann says. "I am eternally grateful, but still highly suspect of your motives."

"A good instinct, _Herr Gottlieb_ ," she replies. "Don't lose it, you'll be in need of it now more than ever." She sits across from them, folding her hands on the table, and waits, as if expecting more questions.

"I know you," Newt says. "Well, I know _of_ you. You were part of that lawsuit by former employees of the PPDC, something about ignoring regulations regarding uranium storage and disposal. Two or three people died, and a dozen people got sick."

"You are correct," Ms. Xié says, nodding. "I was the lead counsel on that case. I normally work out of Hong Kong, but this was tried in international court, as the PPDC is considered an international governing body, and attempting to prosecute in any one particular country involved would be near impossible."

"What happened?" Hermann asks.

"We won," Ms. Xié says. "They paid out millions, though it was hushed up quite effectively. But as Dr. Geiszler has demonstrated, I have previous experience in international jurisprudence."

She continues. "Now, here is what I know. You're being charged with articles six, seven and eight of the Rome Statute, which covers genocide, crimes against humanity, war crimes, and crimes of aggression. The Office of the Prosecutor opened their case against you the day of the MegaTokyo attack. They've been gathering evidence, interviewing witnesses, and building quite a strong case for the last several months. However, because of the PPDC's jurisdiction over matters involving Kaiju and the Breach, the ICC has allowed them to house you in custody until you are fit to stand trial. Is that all clear?"

Newt's face has gone white as a sheet. "Y-yeah, crystal," he says. Hermann squeezes his hand, trying to breathe, because really, they've both been in denial as to how bad things truly are.

"Now, here is also what I know. I have not lost a court case in fifteen years. Part of that being I don't choose hopeless clients. I have reason to believe that your case isn't hopeless, Dr. Geiszler. In fact, I have reason to believe that you are being scapegoated for crimes officials of the PPDC themselves had a hand in."

"What reasons? What do you know?" Hermann asks.

Ms. Xié smiles. "I was asked to defend you by a confidential source. This individual is covering my substantial fees, and will potentially be providing relevant information to the case, but has asked that neither of you be told this individual's identity, or what they know."

"Okay, okay, hold the fuck on, back the fuck up!" Newt says, standing up, yanking against the handcuffs. "So, what you're telling me is that I've got some weird, mystery benefactor who hired me one of the best damn lawyers in Hong Kong, has evidence that I'm being framed, but I can't know what it is or who they are? Why the fuck should I believe any of this! This could all be a trick, you could be a plant that the PPDC sent specifically so I wouldn't look for my own counsel."

"That is all entirely possible, Dr. Geiszler," Ms. Xié says. "Which is why I've been authorized to show you some very limited information, in regard to-"

The door bursts open.

"-here on orders of the base commander, so shove off, ya nonce!"

Jake strides into the room, all smiles, and Hermann can read the relief on his face, which is echoed back at him. Happily, Illia seems to have been released from his confines, and follows behind Jake.

"Uncle!" Newt yelps.

"Scared the shit out of me, kid," Illia replies, pulling him into a bear hug.

"Ranger Pentecost, this is a private meeting," Ms. Xié says, folding her arms.

"It's okay, he's cool," Newt says as Jake kicks the door shut behind him. "He had a mission. Anything useful?"

"Well, we know your timeline is mad wrecked," Jake says, dropping a tablet on the table in front of them. "You didn't steal Alice back in 2025. The PPDC had her until at least two years later."

Hermann leans in as Newt reads over the documents displayed. "You weren’t the one to name the Kaiju brain Alice?"

"Apparently," Newt says, frowning. "But then, who did?"

"I can help with that," Ms. Xié says, opening her briefcase. "This was quite helpful, thank you, Ranger Pentecost. But I have some information that may enlighten some of this situation."

She removes a sheaf of paper, placing it down in front of them. The title reads PROJECT A.L.I.C.E, and beneath that, the acronym is finally spelled out.

ANTIVERSE LINKED INTELLIGENCE COMMUNICATION EXPERIMENT

"A research project?" Hermann says, skimming over the grant paperwork. "Creating an artificial neurally-networked connection to establish contact with the Anteverse. Newton, have you-"

When he looks over, Newt is clutching his head, eyes jammed shut, whimpering.

"What's wrong?" Hermann asks, dropping the paperwork to the desk, grabbing his shoulder. "Newton, is it the hivemind?"

"No. I remember, Hermann... I _remember_ ," Newt gasps out, as the memory comes flooding back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hi to Mingxia, everybody! She's my second favorite OC behind Hadiyya. See, I promised I wouldn't make you all wait too long ;)


	34. Set You Free: Chapter 14

_March 2025_

_LA is so damn hot, even in mid-March, that Newt is tempted to turn around and get right back on the transport, but unfortunately, it has a) already left, and b) he can see the research team approaching. They're all wearing white lab coats, which,_ lame _, Newt is gonna have to explain fashion requirements to these chucklefucks, because you can still look punk rock as hell while doing science. He’s living proof of that, a goddamned science rockstar._

_Maybe he'll use some of his disgustingly high capitalist wages to outfit the whole crew. He's been meaning to talk to Liwen about that. He didn't join up with her for the money, and he could probably fund some STEM scholarships with the excess sitting in his bank account (totally a Tony Stark move, so badass). When he joined Liwen's startup, he was hoping to avoid the crushing weight of government bureaucracy that comes with your position getting more oversight, something that had dwindled over the years of K-Science getting whittled down to just him and Hermann. He figured that, while he's got no love of the private sector, maybe they could build something less horribly exploitative using Jaeger tech, something to benefit mankind._

_As of late, however, Liwen has been talking about drones, military contracts, and PPDC partnership. Now, Newt's no saint, he was part of an international military force, but a) it was fighting giant sea monsters, and b) that's where the science was, the cutting edge of discovery, the latest unknown. He goes where the science is providing new ideas. And drones are just, like, the worst idea ever. They're highly susceptible to hacking, the cooperative neural handshaking and decision-making capabilities that come from Jaeger pilots are not currently programmable, as artificial intelligence has yet to reach that state, and, if developed, their ease of manufacturing has the potential for so, so much totalitarian abuse. Need your political enemies wiped out right before your power-centralizing rigged election? Just order up a few stolen Shao Industries drones and bam, problem solved._

_And so, becoming somewhat jaded by his current work environment, he's come here. Well, that's not the whole reason he’s here, but it’s the reason he’s going with if anybody asks._

_The group of four approaches Newt. At the head is a tall, brown-skinned man with black hair gelled neatly to the side, wearing large, owlish spectacles of the Harry Potter sort, the kind that screams ‘the size of my lenses is in direct proportion to how smart I think I am’._

_"Dr. Geiszler," the man says in a posh British accent, holding a hand out. "Welcome. I am Dr. Chachar. We're all quite pleased to meet you. We’re all very aware of your past accomplishments and are honored that you’ve decided to join us."_

_Newt shakes his hand, grinning, squinting in the blazing sun despite his sunglasses. "I won’t turn down being flattered. Now let's see if I'm gonna be glad to be here. Show me what you guys have come up with."_

_They escort him into the building. The center of the lobby is undergoing construction, some sort of memorial or statue going up. They glide up three floors in the elevator, and Newt steps out into a lab that reminds him so much of his old Hong Kong one, he half expects Hermann to come around a corner, chalk in hand, ranting and raving about his latest theory on the Breach._

No, that's over, _Newt thinks._ Move on with your life _._

_Well, maybe someday he'll be able to._

_There are circuits and wires scattered all about, broken motherboards, half-finished computer consoles, desks piled with tech, old and new. Several deconstructed Pons units can be seen around the room, but Newt's eyes are drawn to the very center, and the throbbing, pulsating blueish gray mass floating in a tank of yellow liquid._

_"Oh, baby," Newt says, grinning madly. "Can't believe I get to work with you again."_

_Otachi's baby's brain. It's here. They have it. Newt thought for sure that it would've been stolen in the aftermath of the Triple Event, but with Hannibal Chau out of the picture, the PPDC's forces must've swooped in before anyone else did._

_"You've met Alice," Dr. Chachar says. "Of course you have."_

_"Alice? Like, Alice in Wonderland? Down the rabbit hole?" Newt circles the tank, hand smooth across the glass, wondering if Alice remembers him. If he ever went insane and attempted a third drift - which, hell no, he's got enough data from that to last a lifetime, thanks - but hypothetically, if he did, she probably would. Almost certainly, as a creature connected to the hivemind, she would recognize him, just as Otachi knew him._

_"Yes. It stands for ‘Antiverse Linked Intelligence Communication Experiment.’ My own personal acronym. Not the greatest one I've ever come up with, but it serves its purpose nicely," Dr. Chachar says. He comes and stands next to Newt._

_"So, you guys want to talk to it," Newt says._

_"More or less," Dr. Chachar replies. "We were hoping your expertise on the biology and your intimate experience drifting with one would be a valuable asset."_

_Newt nods, cracking his knuckles. "Okay. Show me what you've got."_

 

~

 

It feels like cobwebs being pulled back, like netting being torn apart, like smashing through translucent glass. The memory crashes back into Newt's head, erasing the false one that almost consumed Hermann. Tendrils of the hivemind's control snap off, and the buzzing fades to a barely audible hum.

After he explains it, the three other people in the room share glances.

"We were hoping this might help jog your memory," Mingxia says. "This is good. The more you remember, the more evidence we might be able to gather. You said there were four individuals involved in this project?"

"From what I can remember right now, yeah," Newt says. "Fudvi Chachar... Colin Sinclair, Katya Petrov, and uh.... Ling Fei. Those were the ones I met that day. Fudvi- er, Dr. Chachar, I think he was the lead."

"Even if they don't work here now, there must be records of them working for the PPDC," Jake says. "Maybe we can look 'em up and see if they'll tell us about the project."

"If the project was secretive, they've likely signed NDAs," Hermann reminds him. "Whatever they know, they can't testify freely."

"They could be subpoenaed," Mingxia interjects. "If we could convince the court there's a compelling reason that the NDAs must be voided. I'll take a look into it. It’s just the first angle to strike at. I am certain we will uncover several more before the preliminary hearing."

There's a knock on the door. This time, it's one of the guards.

"Councilors are on a line for you," the man says brusquely.

"Alright. Gentlemen, I'll return as soon as I speak to them," Mingxia says, standing up.

"Wait," Newt says. He’s still not happy with the lack of information Mingxia is providing them. Who the hell pays a lawyer to defend the guy who almost ended the world? "Tell me who sent you to me."

Mingxia shakes her head. "I already told you. I'm bound by confidentiality as to their identity. If my client deems it necessary, I will inform you. Until then, you must remain in the dark."

"Why should I believe you about any of this?" Newt shoots back.

"What other choice do you have, Dr. Geiszler? I understand your hesitation, and feel free to check up on everything about myself that I've told you. But you have few options and trusting me is your best one."

"I'm short on trust. Can you blame me?"

"No," Mingxia says, shaking her head. "However, I am hopeful that when I return from speaking with the councilors, I will have good enough news to at least convince you that I am as capable as I claim to be.”

Newt watches her go. He's so tired of being dicked around, not knowing anything, not knowing why he did the things he did, and this memory, despite bringing more questions than it answers, is a rush of hope that he hasn't felt in weeks.

Hermann has his fingers laced together in front of his mouth. There’s some very confused calculation going on in that noggin, eyes squinted and teeth nipping at his lower lip. Newt has seen that look a thousand times, mostly directed at himself, as if Mingxia is an equation to be solved, and if he can only analyze the data the correct way, things will make sense.

“Hey, Uncle, Jake, can you give us a minute?” Newt asks. “I need to make sure Hermann’s brain hasn’t blue-screened. You’re probably too young for that reference, Jake. It means I need to… fuck, I don’t know, make sure he hasn’t ‘yeeted.’ Jesus, Gen Z references are stupid.”

“Piss off, old man, you didn’t even use it correctly,” Jake says, but he’s smirking. “Anyway, I need to go make sure Nate doesn’t rip the head off the idiot who almost got you shipped off. Keep our dear leader in check. See you blokes later.”

“I’ll go for a quick walk,” Illia says, following Jake out the door, shooting Newt a questioning, worried look. Newt answers it with a smile, because he’s given Illia enough worry for a lifetime, and he refuses to add any more if he can help it.

When they're gone, Hermann turns to look at him. "Well? What do you think?"

"She's right," Newt says, dragging a hand through his hair. "Do we have another plan? Because I can't think of one. Fuck. At least now we know why I lied to Liwen. She would've flipped her shit if she thought I was wasting my mental resources on a project like that."

"Yes, she certainly would have. And this may be our best option now, unfortunately." Hermann glances at the door, seeming hesitant, as if someone is liable to burst in this very second. When no one appears, he looks back at Newt, leans in, and kisses him.

Newt groans softly, hands coming up to cling to Hermann's shirt. It only lasts a moment, and he comes away frowning. "What was that for?"

"I," Hermann says, expression deathly serious, "am still absolutely terrified that someone will walk through that door and try to take you away. I know I should have prepared myself for this better, but I had some small hope, or perhaps a delusion, that you were not truly in danger.” He takes a sudden breath, pressing a hand over his eyes. “Newton, I need to reiterate how deeply I love you, will continue to do so until my dying breath, because if- if we are torn apart again..."

And Newt hears a little sniff, but no, he must’ve imagined it, because Hermann doesn’t… except yes, he does, apparently.

“Hermann, you don’t need to- shit," Newt curses, and he reaches out, drawing Hermann against his chest, an odd but necessary role reversal of how they've been the last few weeks, because Hermann is shaking, heaving, breath hot and stuttering against Newt’s throat. Hermann is crying, and Newt has never seen him do this, not in all the years they’ve known one another. Too stubborn, maybe too embarrassed to let other people see any sign of vulnerability. On the one hand, it’s oddly flattering that Hermann feels comfortable enough to break down in Newt’s presence. On the other, Newt fucking _hates_ this. It’s painful and horrible, like a car crash he can’t look away from, and lacking experience with this scenario, it’s hard to know what to do, other than to hold Hermann close and let him cry it out, so he does that. He waits and listens quietly, unnaturally still, until Hermann’s breathing starts to even out.

"It's gonna be alright," Newt mutters.

"You cannot know that," Hermann mumbles, sniffing again. "I- I have tried to stay strong, to be someone you can lean on-"

"Someone _I_ can lean on? Are you fucking kidding me, you goddamn British genteel stereotype?" Newt says. "It's not supposed to be a one-sided thing. You know that, right? That's why it's called a _partnership_."

He yanks against the cuff locking his other wrist to the table, wanting so badly to fully embrace Hermann, envelop him in love and warmth and comfort as Hermann has done for him so many times in the last few weeks. Newt's been selfish, relying on Hermann's protective nature, but he's just as vulnerable to all this trauma as Newt, and he needs his own rock.

"I do not believe I could go on without you," Hermann says, digging a hand into Newt's back. "I do not believe I would want to, either."

"You spent ten years without me. You survived."

"I still knew you were out there! Without me, yes, but _alive_. If they take you now..."

If they take him now, that's no guarantee. Newt knows it. He'll be lucky to make the trial, it would be so easy to disappear him, blow his brains out in a back alley and claim suicidal ideations were the cause. It doesn't matter if his drive to live is the highest it's probably ever been, everyone would think he'd been unable to handle the knowledge of how many lives he's destroyed.

What cold comfort can he give? Mingxia brought them a bit of hope, but hope is such a fragile, fickle thing, for which he'll either be fortunate or foolish for believing in. Newt feels like he's buried again, crushed under the weight of reality instead of the hivemind, and Hermann is suffocating right along with him.

"Herms, look at me." Newt clasps his chin and gently nudges his head up. Hermann's eyes are red and blood-shot, weary, exhausted, defeated. He looks his age in a way he hadn't before, and Newt considers ten years together, ten years apart, and three weeks reunited.

"I'm not giving up,” Newt says. “Are you?”

Hermann swallows, then shakes his head.

“Never, _mein Schatz_ ,” he says. “I’m with you until the end.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya'll I need you to know that this arc is on track to be about 40 chapters. this fic is gonna be 150k words long.
> 
> what have i done


	35. Set You Free: Chapter 15

It’s been hours since Mingxia disappeared to go speak with the councilors. Hermann has given up any pretense of serenity, and paces the room, while Newt leans into the table, drumming his fingers on the shiny steel. Illia sits across from them, arms folded, head nodding into his chest, far past his bedtime but too concerned with his nephew's welfare to care.

Illia brought some water and dinner from the cafeteria at one point, so empty bellies were filled, but Hermann's chest is still constricted, tight with worry. This is taking quite long, but that is a good thing, right? That means Mingxia is really working the councilors over, making her case, doing a good job of convincing them to leave Newt at the Shatterdome and not fly him to some prison black site where Hermann will never be able to find him.

_Or_ , he thinks _, or, they are having his trial without us and he's been found guilty and sentenced to death in mere hours._

No. No, those are the paranoid thoughts of a paranoid man. A paranoid man who works for an international coalition that apparently engaged in some form of conspiracy requiring a massive cover-up and potentially dispatching participants in said conspiracy. A paranoid man who is the son of one of the two councilors Mingxia is speaking to, and whom has already indicated that he finds his son’s dalliances with the man being argued over to be pointless, harmful and in need of ending.

The door opens, and Hermann's head whips around. Mingxia steps back in the room.

"Alright," she says. "We came to an agreement."

"Let's hear it," Newt says, knocking his fist on the metal table. "Personally, I'd just like to know whether I'll still be alive to see season forty-six of the Simpsons. That's my real motivation here."

"Newton," Hermann groans. "This is not the time."

"This is exactly the time, it feels like a funeral in here, and I'm not dead yet, so that's not allowed," Newt says.

"Blame me," Illia chimes in, yawning. "I'm where his sense of humor comes from."

"First, you'll be happy to know that you'll be remaining in the Shatterdome for the time being," Mingxia says.

Newt gives a little _whoop!_ noise, but Hermann waits, knowing that's not the end of it.

"Secondly," she says. "You won't be locked in a cell. A lesser lawyer couldn’t have gotten you that deal, if you still need proof of my capabilities."

"What's the catch?" Hermann says. "I can tell there's a negative here."

"Well, Dr. Gottlieb, according to the councilors I spoke with none of the council believes that you won't try to help Dr. Geiszler escape if you're left alone. So, while he will have a limited amount of movement around the base, he will be accompanied by a handler at all times."

"And who is assigning the handlers?" Hermann asks.

"The American and German councilors each chose one from amongst the JACRO officers," Mingxia says.

"Oh, just fucking great!" Newt says. "I definitely feel confident about my chances right now."

Mingxia continues. "Dr. Geiszler, there will be a preliminary hearing in two weeks to determine whether a trial will occur. At that time, you'll be flown to the Hague. Dr. Gottlieb, Mr. Geiszler, I've already secured your passages there, so don't worry about that."

"So, we have two weeks in which to find more evidence that something underhanded was occurring at the PPDC," Hermann says. "That is far too little time."

"Yes," Mingxia says. "I’m certain it’s expected to be, which is why I need you to tell me whom you believe would be helpful to us. We are going to need 'all hands on deck' as the saying goes."

"Lambert!" Newt yelps. "And Pentecost, and Raleigh. Maybe my shrink?"

"Ranger Reyes," Hermann continues. "The Jaeger pilots. Dr. Pitafi."

"What about Tendo? Have you spoken to him?" Newt asks.

"He's retired," Hermann replies. "Trying to live a 'normal' life now. Perhaps, though. He had extensive connections throughout this whole organization. Maybe he knows someone who knows someone."

"Fantastic. Give me any contact information you have for them," Mingxia says. "I'll start work on this immediately. Oh... and, I'm going to need that security bracelet, the one connected to Dr. Geiszler's ankle bracelet?"

Illia is the one currently wearing it, and he grips a fist around it, frowning. "Why?"

"It's going to the handler's possession," Mingxia says.

Hermann's head whips up. "What? Over my bloody-"

"Just give it to her, Uncle," Newt says. "No point fighting over it. She got me more freedoms than I expected."

"Newton..." Hermann starts.

"Zip it, dude," Newt cuts him off. "Just listen, _please_ , so we can get out of here. The walls are closing in on me."

"Your choice, kiddo," Illia says, and hands it over.

Hermann scowls. "But Illia and I are still going to be accompanying you at all times. I refuse to trust that this 'handler' won't try anything."

"Two babysitters? I must be really special," Newt drawls, grinning at Hermann's scowl.

Mingxia promises to speak with them in the morning, and then leaves. Illia, seeing that Hermann has no plans to stray from Newt's side for the remainder of the night, bids them a goodnight and heads back to his own quarters.

The handlers are still being chosen, it seems, because the four guards from earlier accompany them back to Hermann's room. Thankfully they've removed the handcuffs, and Hermann holds Newt’s hand tightly the whole walk back, glaring daggers at the guards, one of whom now wears the bracelet. Newt, for his part, is bouncing on his heels, seemingly excited that he's not seeing the other side of a jail cell tonight. He's grinning wildly at Hermann, like they're sharing some sort of wonderful secret, though Hermann can't possibly think of what.

When they get to the room, Hermann swipes his key card. Newt grabs his arm and practically drags him inside.

"No disturbances," Newt says, poking his head back out. "I don't care if there's a fucking Kaiju attack, don't open this door. Got me?"

The guards look at him like he's nuts. "You don't give the orders here, Dr. Geiszler," one says.

Newt grins wide, manic. "Listen, boys and girl. For your sanity's sake, I'd suggest listening to my directions. Oh, and maybe finding some earplugs or headphones to listen to music on. I'm not sure the soundproofing in this base is the greatest."

"Newton?" Hermann says, wide-eyed with confusion.

Newton shuts the door, grabs Hermann's keycard, and swipes the internal reader, locking it. Then he grabs Hermann by the shoulders, and Hermann yelps in surprise as he's slammed against the door, pinned by Newt's hips, and kissed wildly, possessively, fiercely.

"Wh-what are, _oh!_ " Hermann gasps as Newt's hands slide over him, his teeth working out an ache in Hermann's neck, or maybe trying to cause one instead. Newt's hands are already on the move, divesting Hermann of his belt, and Hermann grips his shoulders for support, cane having fallen to the ground when he was pinned.

"You remember what I told you?" Newt says, tossing aside his own belt. "I'm gonna fuck you on every available surface of this room."

"But, but what about the hivemind?" Hermann asks, dragging his nails up Newt's spine. " _Sheiße!_ Newton..."

"Dude." Newt looks him dead on. "I _remembered_. The memory was fixed."

Hermann gapes at him. " _Nein!_ So, we didn't need the drift? The hivemind was sedated?"

"I," Newt says, flicking the buttons of Hermann's shirt apart. "I am _extremely_ aroused right now, and the hivemind is barely a buzz. Kind of like a fly somewhere in the room you can't see. It was a swarm before."

"Bloody _fantastic_!" Hermann replies, grinning back at him.

Newt gets all the buttons open on Hermann's shirt, then drops his hands to undo the buttons on Hermann's pants. Hermann follows his lead, one arm on Newt's shoulder, but his other hand catching the edge of Newt's sweatpants and dragging it down.

"Cheater," Newt says, laughing as Hermann frees his cock with one tug. "You've got buttons and shit!"

"Do stop whining," Hermann replies. "It's only enjoyable to hear if you're doing it for a sexually-induced reason. For instance, this."

He lets go of Newt's sweatpants and grips the base of his shaft firmly. Newt gasps and pitches forward, teeth clamping to Hermann's shoulder, groaning.

"Exactly," Hermann says.

"No, fuck, wait," Newt says, finally getting the last of Hermann's buttons undone. He shimmies Hermann's pants and boxers down, helping the other man step out of them, leaving him half-dressed from the waist up.

Then, to Hermann's surprise, Newt reaches down and grips underneath Hermann's thighs, hoisting him up, leveraging him against the door. Newt pulls Hermann’s legs out and around his waist, and Hermann wraps his good leg around Newt's waist, Newt's arm supporting his bad leg and under his hip. This position serves to put them at level eyesight, as Hermann's gangly legs are most of the reason he towers over Newt on regular days.

"You've gained muscle," Hermann comments, watching Newt's free hand slip between them. "I'm not a light man."

"Are you seriously body-shaming yourself right now?" Newt asks, grasping Hermann's cock, gliding his thumb down the underside and watching Hermann as he moans and drops his head back.

"N-no, of course not, merely stating facts," Hermann says, nails digging into Newt's shoulders. He's not afraid Newt will drop him, but this is a highly irregular position for him, and it will take some getting used to.

"Good," Newt replies. "While I am in possession of this Precursor given body, I'm going to take as many opportunities to fuck you in weird and difficult positions."

"Good lord, Newton," Hermann pants. "Since when did you become an insatiable sexual deviant?"

"Since you said you loved me and I got my metaphorical ticket to ride you," Newt says, winking at him.

Newt plays with his cock for a while, and it's all very lovely and arousing, but Hermann is getting uncomfortably warm, and his back is beginning to ache, and really, they have a perfectly good bed sitting right _there_. So, he drops his good leg and slips his bad leg free, ignoring Newt's whining to pull him over to the bed. They land on it, facing one another, and Hermann taps a finger over Newt's mouth.

"Darling, while I appreciate your creative imaginings of our future sexual involvement... I'd prefer our first time attempting intercourse to be something a tad simpler. I would like to focus on the closeness, the intimacy, and all that."

Newt kisses the tip of his finger, and then nods.

"Yeah, I'm picking up what you're putting down. Okay then." He rolls them over, so that Newt is seated atop Hermann's lap, and presses their hips together, cocks aligning against one another.

Hermann shudders, unconsciously licking his lips, which Newt must take as a signal to lean forward and meld them to his own, tongue diving out to twist and tease Hermann's. Newt's kissing is wild, sloppy, imprecise, eager, Hermann understands the eagerness, but he cups Newt behind the head, and against the cheek, and guides him towards a much more precise, enjoyable way of going about things, until Newt is panting heavily above him, grinding his hips down into Hermann's lap.

Newt pulls back, mischief on his face, and it strikes Hermann, so suddenly, how very _carefree_ Newt looks in this moment, has not looked this utterly _happy_ since... since he woke up, really.

"The light is back in your eyes," Hermann says, matter-of-factly.

"Huh?" Newt pauses, looking at him, a confused tilt to his head, a raised eyebrow. "Are you high right now, dude?"

Hermann shakes his head, chuckling to himself, really, because how can he explain it? How can he begin to explain the difference he sees? Newt was awake before, yes, but now he might, perhaps, be _alive_ too.

"You're so weird, and I love it," Newt says, leaning back down to catch his mouth in a chaste kiss, which slowly morphs into something not quite as chaste. Newt's hands slip beneath Hermann's undershirt, skimming along his hipbones, finding purchase along the breadth of Hermann's stomach, exploring, discovering, cataloging a map of Hermann's anatomy, and when they discover one particular area of said anatomy (which they are not the first to discover, but certainly the most welcome and wanted), they wrap around it and claim it.

" _Newton_ ," Hermann gasps, arching up, the ache in his hip warning against any attempt to push higher.

" _Hermann_ ," Newt replies, mouth pressed to Hermann's neck, mapping it with his tongue in long, feline strokes, softer and smoother but certainly just as ticklish. Hermann squirms and Newt pins one of his wrists to the bed, brings Hermann’s other hand to his lips and kisses each knuckle separately, before drawing two fingers into his mouth and sucking gently on them, eyes dark and full of want. Hermann moans then, Newt's tongue slipping warm and wet over his digits before he pulls them back out with an audible _pop!_

"You are utterly debauched," Hermann pants, as Newt guides Hermann’s wetted fingers down and coaxes them around Newt's own cock.

"You have no _idea_ ," Newt says, resting his forehead in the crook of Hermann's shoulder, breath hot and heady as Hermann takes the hint and begins to stroke him. Newt licks a stripe down his own hand and returns it to Hermann’s cock, matching the long, smooth strokes Hermann is producing.

Newt then proceeds to list out the very many, many filthy, perverted, possibly illegal things he would like to do to Hermann. There are scenarios involving costumes and adult toys, sneaking into various areas of the base where intercourse is _definitely_ not on the list of acceptable uses of the space, scenarios involving Newt's mouth and various parts of Hermann's body, and if the man isn't fixated at the oral stage, Hermann will eat his copy of Freud’s _Die_ _Traumdeutung_. Newt's voice, husky and hoarse, is making every one of these scenarios sound exciting and pleasurable to attempt.

"-bend you over the pilot's console and open you up with my tongue, make you come, and then get you hard again so I can fuck you," Newt says panting and thrusting up against Hermann's palm. It's all too much, and Hermann lets go of him, grabs his arm, shaking with arousal.

"You need to _stop_ ," Hermann shudders, "because I will not make it to what we are attempting to accomplish if you don't."

Newt grins. "You always did like the sound of my voice a little too much. No wonder you spent so much time picking fights, so you could hear it."

"Slander," Hermann says, grinning back. "I demand proof."

"I could just start listing scenarios again," Newt replies.

"Fine, alright, I yield," Hermann says, kissing him again, long and languid, tongues dragging, teeth nipping and teasing lips, till Hermann isn't quite sure where he ends, and Newt begins.

They discard the rest of their clothes soon after and lie down beside one another. Newt's leg is thrown over Hermann's hip, Hermann's arms gripping Newt's waist.

"I have a request," Hermann says. "And I know how horribly mundane it will sound, but... Could you speak some German?"

Newt's eyes light up.

" _Na sicher, mein Schatz_ ," he says. The words sound shaky, falling off his tongue, and the accent's all wrong, but Newt learned bloody German for _him_ , however minimal, and there's something so utterly erotic about that fact.

"Keep going," Hermann says. " _Hor nicht auf_."

"I only know a little, dude," Newt says. "But, um, okay. I'll try."

He nudges Hermann to turn over, presses up against his back, arms wrapped around his chest, mouth pressed to Hermann's ear. His hands splay open and his fingertips roam playfully as he begins to speak.

" _Ich liebe dich_ ," Newt says, nipping his earlobe. " _Ich will immer_... erm... _immer bei dir sein_. _Wir brauchen uns_. _Ble_... _Bleib bei mir_."

" _Heirate mich_ ," Hermann gasps, his own hands gripping into Newt's arms.

"What?" Newt asks. "I- I don't know what that-"

"I, er, don't worry about it. You'll learn it eventually," Hermann says, heart hammering in his chest. _Did I really just...?_

"Was that okay?" Newt asks, and obviously he's being oblivious, because Hermann is impossibly, visibly aroused, prick leaking a fluid trail onto the sheets, chest heaving and splotched red with exertion. If Newt is insistent on being the purposefully obtuse...

"Newton," Hermann says, pressing his hips back and grinding into Newt's cock. "If you do not begin making preparations to penetrate me this very instant, I will be _livid_."

"Hermann, Jesus, talk dirty to me _,_ why don't you?" Hermann feels Newt pull away for a moment, hears the drawer of the side table scrape open, the fumbling for the bottle of lubricant, the pop of the cap, and then feels the press of a thick finger at his entrance.

"The amount of nonsense I have to put up with from you on a regular ba- _bloody Christ_!"

Hermann's scold turns into a groan as Newt's finger slides into him, very well lubricated. The first one is always a bit odd, a bit foreign, especially since it's been so long. Hermann hasn't been a monk in the last ten years, certainly, and wasn't so even when Newt was his lab partner. There's something to be said for dalliances with men covered in tattoos who don't quite mind if you gasp your desired partner's name in their ear the whole bloody time. But it's still been... he'd last seen Carter in 2032, he thinks...

_This headspace is not where I want to be right now._ Hermann turns his focus back to Newt's hands, the one dragging up his chest, twisting one of his nipples, the other slippery and slowly sliding a secondary finger into him. Newt seems to react to Hermann's noises, grinding against his backside every time Hermann lets out a moan, a sigh, a gasp. He's nipping at Hermann's shoulder, panting loudly, and Hermann can tell he'll be frantic, greedy in his lovemaking, if just opening Hermann up is doing this to him.

"Herms... fuck, I need to fuck you _so badly_ ," Newt whimpers.

And Newt _needing_ him like this, well, Hermann has certainly discovered a new kink today.

Newt's next finger is shaking when he pushes it into Hermann, a bit rougher than the last two, but that's okay, because there should be some friction, a touch of resistance, something he can work himself against.

"Newton... would you get on with it," Hermann scolds, smacking his hip, this is taking far too _long_. Newt lets out a burst of laughter and pulls his fingers away, and Hermann will pretend he wiped them off on something other than his nice duvet. Hermann lifts his leg, angles his hips back, assumed Newt will slide into him like this, but he finds himself being rolled onto his back, Newt lifting his legs up and spreading them.

"Is... is this okay?" Newt asks, pressing a kiss to the inside of Hermann's knee. "I kinda... I wanna see you," he says, blushing crimson, as if Hermann would dream of saying no to _that_.

"However you'd like it, _mein Schatz_ ," Hermann says, reaching up to stroke a hand through his hair. Newt preens over the attention, delight evident in his gaze, and bounds between Hermann’s legs to kiss him again, nudging Hermann's knees wide apart with his hips.

" _Ich liebe dich_ ," Newt mutters. "Fuck, whoever said Germann was a harsh language can bite me."

"I'd prefer to be the one doing that," Hermann replies, tangling his hands into Newt's hair, which is badly in need of a cut at this point, but there are benefits such as this, letting him draw Newt into a hot, languorous kiss.

Hermann feels the head of Newt's prick, feels Newt hesitate after lining it up, as if Hermann will call it quits _now_. But then Hermann takes a breath, closes his eyes, relaxes, and Newt must sense this is the right moment. He presses forward, and he's done quite the good job of preparing Hermann, because the head slides in smoothly, then another little thrust seats part of the shaft, Hermann's breath being let out in a loud _whoosh_ , the last thrust making him gasp and squeeze, but Newt's in, he's in to the hilt, and Hermann relaxes the squeeze, the pressure melting into a wonderful fullness.

" _Fantastisch, mein Schatz_ ," Hermann moans, head dropping back against the pillow. "Bloody _hell_..."

"Seconded," Newt says, forehead coming to rest against Hermann's. His legs are quivering, and his breath is coming in short gasps, and Hermann worries it’s too much until Newt slides out partially and snaps his hips forward like a whip, and Hermann arches off the bed.

" _Mein Gott!_ " he cries, fingers digging into Newt's shoulders, heels digging into the back of Newt's thighs. The friction of the thrust was _intense_ , not pain or pleasure but _sensation_ , so much of it, so that Hermann can't prepare for the next thrust, or the next one, arching farther and farther back, until it's too much and he's dragging Newt's shoulders down so he can wrap his arms around them fully and bury his face in Newt's neck, whole body shaking with that _sensation_.

"Herms..." Newt gasps hoarsely in his ear. "Oh, fuck, you feel _amazing_ , dude, this was the, the _best_ idea..."

"I- I concur wholeheartedly... _ahh_!" Hermann squeezes, rides that delectable fullness, that delightful friction, and when Newt's hand wriggles between them to grasp his shaft, the noise he makes is so embarrassingly unlike him, he swears it came from someone else, someone who takes thrice the enjoyment from sex that Hermann ever has. But no, he makes it again and again as Newt strokes him, thrusts into him, free arm supporting Hermann's bad leg against his hip, claiming Hermann for himself but ensuring Hermann feels cared for in the claiming.

" _Ich liebe dich, ich liebe dich, ich liebe dich_ ," Newt whispers into his ear, over and over, like a hymnal, a chant, a prayer, a spell cast over the moment. Hermann catalogs all the things he notices, like the minute changes in angle Newt makes, testing, measuring Hermann's cries and adjusting his thrusts accordingly. Newt's hand works his shaft in short, smooth strokes, but they're echoed by the brush of his fingers against the calf of Hermann's leg, both hands working in tandem. Newt's voice creeps higher and higher, morphing into melodious moans, and Hermann has the burning desire to hear him sing, but later, after this. Yet part of him wishes this would go on forever.

Hermann is practically bowed in half, Newt thrusting harder, bending him inwards, kissing him, tongue thrusting between his lips, greedy, just as greedy as Hermann had anticipated. Anticipated but not unwelcome. Hermann's cries have dropped to muffled whimpers as Newt rides his mouth as hard as Hermann rides Newt's cock. Hermann jerks his head to the side because he _needs to breathe_ , only for Newt to nudge and nose under his chin and start nipping, licking, teasing the sensitive skin of Hermann's throat.

"Newton...!" Hermann gasps, tears pricking the edges of his eyes, it's so much, it's all so utterly _much_.

"I, I _know_ , babe," Newt replies, grunting as he rolls his hips, then licks a stripe of skin straight down Hermann's throat, tongue lapping at the dip of his collarbone. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"T-tell me," Hermann groans. "Tell me all the ways you've, you've thought about making love to me in here..."

"Jesus, Herm... I, okay... I wanna p-pin you to your desk and drive your hips into the wood so hard you'll have bruises on the tops of your thighs for days... wanna, wanna put you at the end of this bed... fuck you with my tongue until you shoot a load across your chest..."

" _Ach_ , _yes,_ keep going," Hermann pleads, squeezing tighter, getting more aroused at the noise Newt makes when he does that, which just makes him squeeze tighter again.

"You and the f-fuckin' dirty talk, you kinky fucker, I s-swear... okay, uh..." Newt lets his legs down a little, lets him stretch his back out, which is good, because it was starting to ache a bit. He rests Hermann's ankles on his shoulders, kisses the tip of his toe, lips ghosting teasingly against it.

He returns to thrusting, and the fantasies. "I, well, I wanna lie you over my lap, open you up with a toy, maybe one of the half-dozen dildos I own, if I ever get 'em back...  then maybe I'll fuck your mouth with my cock at the same time to see which one actually makes you come... "

"Th-that could be fun," Hermann replies, imagining it, the idea of it sending a tingle of pleasure deep into his balls. "Experimental in the bedroom, as you are in every other aspect of your life..."

"Damn right," Newt says, eyes jammed shut, the picture of intensity, focus on the orgasm that is likely approaching.

The pressure that's been building at the base of his cock is close to imploding, and Hermann jerks up harder onto Newt's cock, knowing his hip will ache for hours after this, but not caring, because it's so good, so good and perfect and _right,_ and the one thing, the one person in the world he's ever truly wanted and needed so badly he feels half a person without, Newt, amazing, brilliant, wonderful Newt, is finally _his_ Newt.

"Newton, _fuck me_ , _bitte, oh mein Gott!_ "

Newt collapses onto him, rutting eagerly, wildly, each thrust just barely, barely almost there, almost right, almost... and then it's _there_ , it's right, and Hermann screams Newt's name as he lets go, crescendos, peaks and rushes into his orgasm like the final movement of a symphony, shattering into a being of pure bliss, release splattering between them. And Newt babbles over and over, _ich liebe dich, ich liebe dich_ , and Hermann feels him seize up, crying out Hermann's own name, as his release filling Hermann with an interminable warmth.

They're suspended in silence, breaths breaking off against the smoothness of each other's skin. Then Newt laughs, and the arm that's come up to grip around Hermann's head slips down to stroke his cheek.

"I think that was item number one on my bucket list," Newt mumbles. "Yeah, so now I can check off 'have the best sex of my life with Hermann Gottlieb' from my desired accomplishments."

Hermann chuckles, turning his head to press a kiss to Newt's palm. "Really, now, we could certainly top this evening in future encounters."

Newt lifts his head. "Are you suggesting wild and creative sexual experimentation, Dr. Gottlieb? Rather a bit out of your normal area of expertise, I'd think."

Hermann smacks his hip, though it's good-natured, accompanied by a fond smile. "As I've told you, Newton, I contain multitudes. Or did this encounter not clue you into that?"

"Well," Newt says, sitting up, "I've certainly never been asked to practice my bilingualism in the bedroom. My bisexuality, sure, but never language skills. Okay, gonna pull out now, get ready."

He slides out of Hermann, who immediately rolls over and grabs for his cane off the floor. He levers himself up and hobbles to the bathroom, taking care of the necessary post-coital cleanup. When he returns, Newt is resting on top of the duvet, eyes shut, still completely naked, one hand behind his head, the other on his stomach.

It's quite the flat stomach now, the Precursors were either very vain or very paranoid about what four decades of junk food consumption had done to their host before they got a hold of him. The thing of it is, Hermann had occasionally fantasized about resting his head there, when it was rounder, softer, and he could do it now, but it wouldn't be the same. Well, not to worry. With the way he's seen Jake sneaking Newt snacks from the commissary, Hermann expects he'll be able to enjoy that secret pleasure in a few months.

_If he's still here in a few months_. But no, no time for those thoughts, because Newt opens his eyes, smiles, and pats the bed next to him.

"Stop being all tall and lanky and broody over there, Fitzwilliam Darcy. We just had, like, _the best_ sex and there's no brooding allowed."

"I am not a Jane Austen character, and I shall brood as much as I like, it's my bloody room." Hermann drops onto the bed, crawling up to rest his head on Newt's shoulder, arm draped over his chest.

"Uh huh. See, I've got this rule about who gets to use me as a pillow, and only people who actually show that they visibly enjoyed having sex with me are granted that special privilege."

Hermann glances up, meets his eyes, and smiles.

"You're happier. You're getting better," he says.

Newt opens his mouth, then closes it, blinking.

"You're _healing_ , Newton," Hermann continues, stroking a hand up and down his hip.

"I... I feel better," Newt says. "Isn't that dumb, though? I'm learning more and more about the destruction I helped create, I'm under military custody, I've got a trial at the fucking _Hague_ in two weeks that I'm liable to lose and be executed for-"

"Newton-"

"No, shut up, I don't care if the idea of my potential death makes you sad. That's not my point." Newt runs a hand through his hair. " _How_ , Hermann. How am I like this? Shouldn't I be, like, curled in the fetal position, terrified for my life?"

"Perhaps that's a question for your therapist," Hermann replies. "However, personally, I'm of the mind that several things are occurring. Firstly, every time you fix a memory, your personal internal image of yourself corrects itself. Inevitably, it'll improve a bit too far, and you'll return to being a cocky, self-indulgent, etiquette-less - I'm joking! Newton, what are you doing with those hand- stop it, stop it, _ah_!"

"I'll show you etiquette-less!" Newt says, grinning and tickling Hermann in every area he knows Hermann to be vulnerable in. Hermann squirms and laughs and swats at him, finally stopping him with a well-timed grab of the shoulders and firm, languid kiss.

"Secondly," Hermann continues after plundering his mouth for a bit, "you've been given back some semblance of agency in your life. Perhaps not as much as you'd like, but much more than you've had in the past decade. The choices you make now are at least your own."

"Okay, makes sense," Newt replies. "Any other reason I'd be happier? Perhaps a change in my relationship status that involves someone I've been pining for for over two decades?"

"Really?" Hermann frowns. "That long, you'd say?"

"Dude... I think I was in love with you by the third email you sent," Newt replies. "You started talking about mathematical potentialities of discerning the temporal nature of the Breach in order to foster inner-dimensional lightspeed travel and I was done for."

"Then how did our first meeting turn out so poorly?"

"Herms... I loved you. I had to learn to _like_ you too." Newt winces, waving his flattened palm side to side like a seesaw. "You can be kinda... brusque on first introduction."

Hermann gapes at him, then smacks his arm. "Are you bloody joking? You believe I got us off on the wrong foot? Your first comment upon meeting me was 'you look like you just left a meeting of the Mr. Rogers fan club.'"

"You totally did! Twenty-six and already in your grandpa sweaters. I still can't believe you got that reference," Newt says, snickering.

"I'm a bloody _millennial_ , Newton! We had Mr. Rogers in Germany, and I am not above the occasional memetic reference!"

"This is nice," Newt says, resting his arm over Hermann's. "This is like old times."

Now it's Hermann's turn to be speechless.

"You're incorrigible," he finally says. "Exactly the Newton I remember."

Newt goes crimson, and looks so pleased, and Hermann knows it was the perfect thing to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a long one! Just as a warning, between class and an upcoming trip, posting may be a bit slow for the next 2 weeks. I'll try to keep people updated on twitter if it's really going to drag out.


	36. Set You Free: Chapter 16

"So... there have been some changes," Dr. Ayoade says.

Newt snorts and leans back on the couch. "Really, ya think? Does nobody keep you in the loop, Doc?"

Dr. Ayoade settles her hands in her lap, shrugging. "I prefer to hear about important life alterations from my clients, since you are the ones whose perspectives are most important in here."

"Perspectives," Newt repeats. "Like my perspective on the dude out in the hall in a suit with a gun and direct orders to subdue me if I try to run anywhere? Or my perspective on some stone-cold Chinese lawyer lady swooping in like Batman to save my ass but refusing to tell me why? Or maybe my perspective on how I'm in love with my best-friend-slash-intellectual-rival of two decades plus, and he's basically implied to me that if my _war crimes_ trial goes belly up and I'm executed, he'll off himself. You want some perspective on those?"

Dr. Ayoade raises an eyebrow, which, okay, he supposes the way he said that might have been slightly irreverent for the reality of the situation. But still. He was expecting more of a reaction.

"Yes," she says. "It sounds like you've got some thoughts about all of those things."

"Oh, Doc. My thoughts. My thoughts could fill _encyclopedias_ ," Newt says, itching his ankle with the tip of his shoe, the toes brushing against the bracelet monitor strap that makes him a prisoner even outside of a cell. "Where should we start?"

"How about that man in the hall. What is his name?"

" _Agent Kaito Tanaka_ , _pleased to meet you, Dr. Geiszler,_ " Newt says, mimicking the deep, emotionless tone of voice the man had greeted him with when he'd opened the door of Hermann's room that morning. "He'll be hanging with me from six am to six pm, and then some other douchebag named Agent Finch takes over."

"And, so, this will be going on until..."

"Until the trial," Newt says, leaning into the cushion and folding his arms. "And then, well, I'll either be free or dead, so they'll be out of a job."

"You're very insistent on those being the only two options, I've noticed." Dr. Ayoade scribbles something on her tablet. "You don't see any other outcomes?"

"Like, what? They sentence me to life and I spend the next thirty years rotting away in some prison blacksite? I murdered thousands of people, Doc. They don't give life sentences to war criminals."

"You murdered them?" she interjects. "I thought that was the hivemind's fault."

"Yeah, well, I let them in my head. They wouldn't have been able to do what they did without my help."

Dr. Ayoade shifts in her seat, leaning forwards. "You seem to think you had any sort of control or could've anticipated the consequences."

Newt looks down, worrying his lip. "Of course I do. I just... when I remembered being in LA, I remembered never wanting to drift with Kaiju again, so I want to know what changed my mind. Did I deduce that the benefits of a third drift outweighed the risks? Was I just arrogant? Did I discover something that required verification through a connection to the hivemind? It's so fucking frustrating to not know what my own motivations were."

"And what difference would knowing your motivations make?"

"Oh, come on, have you met me? I always want to know the _why_ of something. And then I want to be able to tell other people the why. And, maybe, I don't know… having a reason for it all would make me hate myself a little less."

There's silence, the dreaded lack of words, where Newt has to sit and ponder what he's just said. Yeah, he does hate himself, for abandoning his loved ones, for letting himself be manipulated, but the fuck of it all is that he doesn't know whether hating himself is a valid option. How is he supposed to know if he doesn't _remember?_ That little glimpse of the A.L.I.C.E. project was a taste of something, something buried deep by the hivemind... _what do I know that I don't know that I know? What don't they want me to remember?_

"You know, you said something similar the last time we met," Dr. Ayoade says. "About hating yourself for something you couldn't have anticipated the consequences of."

"Dad," Newt says, rubbing his face and sighing. "Yeah, I remember. Guess it's a running theme. Something happens, and I wonder what I could've done to change it."

"Could you have done anything?" she presses. "Either with your father, or in this situation?"

"Well, again, don't even know what I did in terms of the hivemind situation. With Dad... I hadn't ghosted on him that long before. Almost thought about giving it another week, thank fuck I didn’t, or I wouldn't have even made the funeral. I could've answered the three dozen times my Uncle called me, but I thought he was just trying to mend things like he always did. If, if I'd just picked up that fucking phone, just stopped being a barely pubescent little shit and met him like an adult... maybe we could've fixed it."

"You had things you wanted to tell him," Dr. Ayoade reflects.

Newt snorts. "Of course I did. Who doesn't when somebody they love dies? Christ, and I think he would've been proud of me, before the hivemind, after we saved the world. I _know_ he would've. But all of this with the Precursors, abandoning Hermann, facing a trial, it would've broken his heart."

"Newt, I'd like to try something, if that's alright," she says, standing up. She walks over to her desk and pulls the chair from behind it, rolling it over to the seating area, perpendicular to their couches. Then she sits back down.

"Okay... what's with the chair?" Newt asks.

"There's a technique I use, sometimes, when I see a client has things they'd like to express to a person they're no longer able to. I'd like to you think about what you'd want to say to your father, and imagine he's sitting there."

"You want me to talk to a chair," Newt says. His voice is deadpan, as flat and empty as the rolling chair.

"No," Dr. Ayoade says. "I want you to talk to Jacob. But, as I'm unable to bring him into the session, we'll have to use a substitute, yes?"

"This isn't- there aren't cameras in here, right? You're not going to send footage of me ranting at an invisible person to the Hague, right?"

Dr. Ayoade chuckles. "No cameras, Newt. If the international court wants to subpoena me, I suspect the prosecution will be disappointed with what I have to report."

"And you'd report...?"

"That you're a passionate, highly intelligent, highly empathetic individual with a lot of unresolved traumas, both recent and distant, symptoms of low-grade depression and anxiety, and the normal amount of guilt one would find in a person who believes themselves to have wronged others. In other words, not a sociopath, or a narcissist, or any personality disorder that lawyers love to dissect to prove that defendants are malcontents and threats to society."

"Oh. You know I wasn't expecting you to actually answer that honestly."

"Trust is important in a therapeutic relationship," she replies. "Now, are you willing to give the chair a go?"

"I guess. It can't be the stupidest therapeutic technique. I still say the mandala drawing takes the trophy for that one."

"Your dislike of mandalas is noted," Dr. Ayoade says, smirking. "So, Jacob is sitting in that chair. What would you like to say to him?"

Newt looks over, staring at the leather rolling chair, subtly turning on its axis towards him, its remaining forward motion transmitted into the seat twisting. The fact that someone is supposed to be sitting there makes it feel like there's a ghost turning towards him, awaiting his next words.

"Okay," Newt says, not sure where you'd begin pretending to talk to your imaginary two-decades dead dad. "Okay. Um. Hi, dad... it's me, Newt. I'm sure you're wondering why I've suddenly aged twenty years since the last time you saw me. Funny thing about that, you're dead, and I'm talking to a ghost! Well, I would be, if you were actually sitting there."

He glances over at Dr. Ayoade. She simply nods.

"Um, yeah. So, about my life up until now... I started working for the PPDC. Their preeminent Kaiju biology expert. Remember that guy I used to write emails to all the time? Yeah, so, Hermann. He’s kind of amazing. We worked together for a decade, and I might’ve fallen in love with him, and then thought he rejected me, and then got possessed- oh, wait. Forgot about that part. Drifted with a Kaiju brain, yeah, yeah, I know. You think that was a risk too far. Well, guess what? We saved the world because of it. And then, well, I kind of fucked up everything, back to the whole possession thing again. So, this evil hivemind took over my body for a decade and almost destroyed the world again. I don't know how, but I still feel like I did something to cause it. So, I saved the world, and then destroyed it again."

"Go on," Dr. Ayoade says when he falls silent. "That's not the whole story, is it?"

"No, I mean, I said I fell in love with Hermann, and then I thought he didn't love me back, except he did, but I was an idiot, and we spent another ten years apart because of it. And then he saved me, Dad." Newt leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the chair. "He risked everything to bring me back, and he did it, because that's how much he loved me. He thought I'd abandoned him, but he still did it. And I feel like such an ass, _fuck_. I ran away. I always run away. I don't learn, I should've learned there were consequences, because last time, when I, and you..."

Newt rubs a hand across his face, sucking in a breath. "It's not fair. I just wanted you to listen, but you wouldn't, you told me I was throwing my life away. But I didn't, Dad. I made something of myself. Sure, there was the whole 'almost destroying my brain by drifting with the Precursor hivemind' and the other whole 'almost destroying the world because of being possessed by said hivemind,' but still. I _saved the world_ , Dad. Who gets to say that, honestly, ever, in this era? I'm the reject son of a piano tuner and an opera singer's brief affair and I saved the world with the man I love. You can't write that shit, Dad. Even anime never gets that hokey."

"What would you hope he would say back to you, Newt?" Dr. Ayoade says, her voice low, a ghost whispering encouragers.

"I... I guess I'd hope he was proud of me," Newt replies. "I don't want to say he was wrong to be mad, but he worked so hard to get me any benefit I could have, and I guess he saw it as me taking those sacrifices and throwing them down the drain."

"Did you?" Dr. Ayoade asks.

"I don't think so," Newt says. "I think... he just wanted me to be happy, Doc. At the end of the day, that's all he wanted."

There are tears that showed up somewhere along the way. Newt wipes his eyes on his sleeve, trying to picture his father in the chair, but it's so hard to remember what he looks like. He hasn't seen a picture of the man in years. Few reminders of family and friends were allowed with the hivemind in control. He should ask Illia for a photo, something to jog his memory. Jacob had the same brown, spiky hair, the triangular nose with flared nostrils, the wide forehead that he has. But the face is hazy, distorted and hard to put into focus. The figure Newt projects into the chair is vague and feels nothing like his father, so he stops trying to force it.

"Hermann would've loved you," Newt says, laughing to himself. "My sense of humor but a lot more common sense and calmness. I wish you could've met him. I wish _he_ could've met _you_. I know Uncle likes him. It's just, well, you're my Dad. I feel like it means something to have the person you love meet your dad. I want you to team up to tease me, and talk about me in front of me, and... I wanted you to love him because he loves me."

The clock on the wall is ticking. Dr. Ayoade isn't speaking. Newt sniffles.

"It's not fair," Newt says. "Fuck, I should've been there. How the fuck could I have known, Dad? You weren't even sixty. It was just a normal Friday, and then we had a blowout, and I ghosted for two weeks and then, you were gone."

Newt digs his fingers into his knees, spitting out his next words.

"How the fuck is that fair? People shouldn't go out like that. You walk out knowing you'll see them again, but then you don't. And you realize you've split off into the worst timeline, because there's another one out there where I walked back in the door and you were _fine_ , Dad! You were okay! But no, it couldn't be this one, could it? In this fucking Precursor-cursed dimension, you were dead. _How the fuck is that fair?_ "

Newt shudders, he's bent so far over into his own knees, and he presses his palm against his mouth, gasping through tears. The clock ticks onwards. Dr. Ayoade is silent. He needs her to say something, anything, because he can't be stuck in this head space, where Jacob is gone, almost as many years now as Newt knew him, and everything about their relationship was sour at the end, bitter and spitfire words, screaming and castigation, because what if that's every ending? He walked out on Dad, he walked out on Monica - years ago, and that's a whole other story - he abandoned Illia, he abandoned Hermann, and the only reason the last two are back in his life isn't because Newt made the effort. Someone else had to step in, someone else had to mend that broken relationship. Newt isn't strong enough, can't say what he really feels most of the time, hides behind sarcasm and anger and performance and self-deprecation.

Newt has been running away from people his entire life, even as they call out to him, to try and get him to stay.

"What are you thinking, Newton?" Dr. Ayoade asks, after a far-too-long silence. There's a rustle, and she's out of her chair, sinking to sit on the couch next to him, a box of tissues in her hands.

Newt takes one tissue out of the box, blowing his nose, shaking his head.

"All I do is run away from difficult things," Newt says.

"Is that entirely true?" she asks. "Did you run away when someone needed to drift with the Kaiju?"

"No, but that's different. Risk-taking for science, that's easy. That doesn't involve... difficult conversations and messy relationships," Newt says, waving his hand.

"So, perhaps try narrowing the focus," she replies.

"Fine... I run away when I can't handle the pressure of other people's expectations," Newt says. "My dad's expectations of what I'd do with my life. Monica's expectation that I would grow up fine even after she left us. Hermann's expectations of our relationship after the Triple Event."

"You wrote him that note," Dr. Ayoade says.

"Yeah, but I could've talked to him," Newt counters. "And saved us a hell of a decade of pain. _Fuck_ , this is why I hate focusing on the past, Doc. I can't change shit now, so what's the point?"

"You know, I'm not usually one for pop culture references. Drives my family mad, as they're all for referential humor, but I think there's one I'd like to pull out now, if you don't mind," Dr. Ayoade says, tossing the tissue box onto the coffee table.

Newt sniffs, wipes his eyes. "Oh, yeah? What's that?"

Dr. Ayoade smiles at him. "The past can hurt. But the way I see it, you can either run from it, or learn from it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm off on a trip this weekend, and the next chapter likely won't get up until Sunday or Monday. Hope this will tide everybody over until then!
> 
> Also, I just want to take the time to, once again, thank everybody who reads this fic, who comments, who's left Kudos and Bookmarked and generally just given me all the support I've needed to work on this fic. If you're one of the regular commenters, seriously, thank you SO much for taking the time every chapter to let me know how you feel. And even if you've only commented once or a few times, I'm also grateful for your feedback and kind words. I always want to know what people liked/loved/didn't like/hated about my writing, because any feedback, as long as it's done respectfully, is so helpful to a writer's improvement. I've been writing fic off and on for about 14 or 15 years. Every bit of feedback has made a difference to where I was then and where I am now. So thank you all, and please know that this fic could've only gotten this far with your support.
> 
> (P.S. I don't do this publicly regularly enough, but I consider dont_be_hasty a vital part of this fic's creation because they've done such a fantastic job with the beta work. It wouldn't be nearly as good without your help, m'dear, so thank you as always :D)


	37. Set You Free: Chapter 17

When Newt walks out of Dr. Ayoade's office, Illia is there, Agent Tanaka is there, and they are talking, they are _making conversation_ , as Hermann's pithy dismissal of basic human interaction would sound. Illia has been reading novels in the waiting room during each session, but his book is discarded on the seat next to him. Tanaka has one leg propped over the other, hands folded primly in his lap, and he moves to stand when Newt walks out, but continues speaking.

"-a lot of questions about whether the RJA is actually having a positive net effect," Tanaka says, nodding to Newt, conversation still directed at Illia. "I actually wrote my thesis on historical outcomes of similar bills and how enforcement of key tenants determined their success or failure."

"Fascinating," Illia says, "Hey, kid, you should hear this guy's history. Lots of background in criminal justice reform and anti-fascism work. Isn't that stuff right up your alley?"

"Yeah, and now he's in a loosely monitored para-military organization with a shady history of potential human rights abuses," Newt says, snorting, entirely unimpressed. "Sorry if I'm not swooning."

"It's understandable, Dr. Geiszler," Tanaka says. He doesn't look insulted. "JACRO does have an atrocious history, but my combined military and criminal justice backgrounds are why Ms. Mori asked me to oversee an internal reconstruction of their purpose. Six months on the job isn't enough time to completely change everything, but I'd like to hope my efforts have had an effect."

"Mako asked you?" Newt stares. It could be bullshit, but then, Mako had her hands in a lot of pies, Newt is finding out almost daily. She'd only been Secretary General for about three of her expected five years. How long would it take to change an organization as large and bureaucratically stymied as the PPDC?

"Well, to be honest, Raleigh recommended me to her," Tanaka says. "We served together back in the day."

"And so why the hell are you guarding me now?"

"Request of the German councilor," Tanaka says, shrugging his shoulders. "Not sure why he thought I'd be a good fit, but there you are."

Newt frowns, trying to get a read on this guy. His accent screams Northern Cali, probably San Diego, if Newt were a betting man. He's a special pick of Mako and Raleigh's, but why would Hermann's dad want this guy guarding him? Why not a German enforcer? There's gotta be some beefed up guys named Liesel that the senior Gottlieb could foist on him.

"So how is this gonna work? You follow me and my Uncle or me and Hermann around wherever we go, jotting down notes about everything I do and why it's not really me but the Precursors who are shoving the cafeteria beef stroganoff down my throat like a starving man? Or is that not the angle? Maybe I'm just obviously lying about being possessed for ten years and decided to try and destroy the world on a lark after literally saving it before. Which one is it?"

"My job is to ensure you don't leave this base," Tanaka replies as they walk out of the waiting room. "I am not here to decide your guilt or innocence for what you've been accused of. Don't try to run off, and we won't have a problem."

"Fantastic. How much privacy do I get? Can I take a shit without you hovering there? Also, I'd prefer you not be in the room when my boyfriend is about to shove his dick in my-"

"Newton!" Illia snaps, and Newt winces a bit. "Jesus, kid, you think I want to hear that? "

"Fuck... sorry, Uncle," Newt replies.

"Agent, could you give us a moment?" Illia asks. "I'd like to speak with him privately. You can keep us in your line of sight."

Tanaka nods and keeps walking forward, turning to face them, while Newt and Illia come to a standstill in the middle of the hallway.

"Stop throwing a tantrum," Illia says, lowering his voice. "This isn't a pleasant situation, but you don't have to make it worse by acting like a bratty teenager. Agent Tanaka is doing his job, which, if you didn't realize it already, probably includes protecting you from anyone stupid enough to try and retaliate for what happened in MegaTokyo."

"What are you talking about?" Newt asks.

"I hear things, Newt," Illia says, glancing around. There's no one in the hallway, but he seems skittish just the same. "People on this base have lost loved ones because of the MegaTokyo attack. People are angry, and some of them would have no problem laying the blame at your feet. Now, maybe this feels like an imposition on what you've been used to for the last few weeks, but honestly, I wish Lambert had put someone on guard duty besides myself or Hermann, because when it comes down to it, we can't protect you from everything. You get one guy with a revenge complex and a twitchy trigger finger, and boom, no more Newt. You think Hermann and I like staying in our rooms all the time? That we don't feel just as cooped up as you do?"

"Hermann and I occupy ourselves," Newt mutters.

"Again, not something I need to hear about. My point is, Tanaka has the training to protect you. He can spot dangers and keep you safe. Keep him on your good side, whatever you think of him personally, could you try and not immediately make the guy hate you?"

"Fine, fine," Newt says. "You've made your point."

"Gentlemen," Tanaka calls. "Sorry to interrupt, but I'm being told, Dr. Geiszler, you are supposed to be getting a delivery? I received a message it's been delivered to your living quarters. Well, to Dr. Gottlieb's living quarters. I specified that as your current residence."

Newt frowns. "Delivery? What do you mean?"

~

Hermann ignores his work for a good portion of the morning to do some research on Newt’s surprise new lawyer, because he is not a man so easily convinced of _deus ex machina_ scenarios, and the convenience of her appearance is just too much to ignore. He reads several news articles, tracking her recent exploits in winning white-collar crime suits, the various awards she’s received, and the generous donors she’s courted to create legal funds for corporate malpractice cases.

Searching back through her history leads to fewer articles in English, and moreso ones in Mandarin. Google Translate does a mediocre job as per usual. Some of the oldest articles mention that she’d recently changed her name, and he thinks there’s a translation error going on, because from his limited Mandarin knowledge, he swears _Xiānshēng_ is a masculine honorific, until everything clicks all at once. Some rather repulsively bigoted comments at the bottom of the articles confirm his suspicion ( _never read the bloody comments, Hermann, utter Neanderthals_ ) and he feels a bit daft and a tad guilty for snooping.

Still, everything about Ms. Xié seems to check out, nothing that would hint towards her being a secret tool of the PPDC, out to trick them into trusting her, only to betray them and lead to Newt’s demise. Besides, that’s all rather complicated now that he considers it further. What would be the point of engaging in said subterfuge only to stop those JACRO officers from taking custody of Newt? He could’ve been whisked away and never seen again. Ms. Xié’s involvement only aids to drag things out for whomever might want Newt out of the picture. So, for now, Hermann deigns to trust her.

When Hermann returns to his room in the evening, Newt's uncle is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, waiting for him. There is also an unfamiliar man standing next to his doorway. Blond hair, slicked to the side, blue eyes, broad-shouldered. A rather generic looking fellow, someone for whom Hermann believes he would forget his face after not seeing it for several days. Probably perfect for JACRO work.

"Is everything alright, Illia?" Hermann asks.

Illia nods. "Yeah. The kid just wanted me to clear out of the space. Said he had a surprise for you. I said I wouldn't be leaving until you got back though." He flicks his eyes over to the unfamiliar man.

"Dr. Gottlieb," the man says, accent American, though Hermann can’t place the dialect. "I'm Agent Finch. Evening guard for Dr. Geiszler."

"Right," Hermann says. "And you'll be out here all night, then?"

"All night," Finch replies. "Unless Dr. Geiszler decides he needs a late-night stroll."

"I rather doubt it," Hermann replies, swiping his key card. "Enjoy the corridor. I hope you brought some reading material. Good night, Illia."

"Night, Hermann."

When Hermann steps into his quarters, the lights are off, but he doesn't turn them on. There are half a dozen candles burning on various shelves and the desk, and the light from the bathroom is illuminated, giving the space enough light so that Hermann can see.

Soft music lilts from the speaker Hermann has on his desk, something jazzy, leaning towards classical. Outside, he can hear the rain pattering against the Shatterdome steel, and a peal of thunder rumbles the room. It's getting towards the rainy season, and the weather is going to keep getting worse. But the room, lit with candles, scored by the music and rain, feels quite cozy as the door behind him slides shut.

Now Hermann sees the small, round table, usually next to the armchair, that has been dragged into the empty space of the room. The armchair and another chair are tucked underneath the white tablecloth draped over the table, and the top is set with two sets of forks and knives (real metal with no discernible rust), two empty squat glasses, and two iron bowls turned upside down, mock chafing dishes. In the center, a bouquet of white lilies sits in a makeshift vase.

"Newton?" Hermann calls out. There's rustling from the bathroom. "What is all this?"

Newt steps out of the bathroom, beaming at him, and Hermann nearly drops his knapsack, which would be quite a bother with the delicate electronics contained therein. It's not his fault, though. How is he to have reacted to the sight before him?

Newt is dressed in a sharp white button-down, sleeves rolled back at the arms, black slacks, shiny black shoes, a skinny black tie, and his hair is spiked up with gel, newly cut and much shorter than the previous evening. He's breathing a bit hard, and Hermann wonders if it's nerves, or was he doing something in the bathroom to make him like that? The slacks are too loose to provide any answers, but then Newt is moving towards him, slipping the knapsack out of his arms and pulling him into a soft kiss.

"Date night," Newt says when he pulls back, cheeks flush and eyes hazy. "I mean, I wanted to take you out somewhere, but that's obviously not going to happen, so I figured I could try and recreate the magic in here."

"How did you set this all up?"

"Called in the cavalry. Pentecost and you are definitely bros now. Like, I'd be kind of worried how eager he was to do something nice for you if I didn't already figure out he had the hots for Lambert ages ago."

"You didn't have to experience them mooning over each other for months," Hermann replies, letting Newt draw him over to sit in one of the chairs. "Straight men do not say that other straight men have 'pretty mouths,' no matter how comfortable they are in their sexuality."

"Look, we were probably worse back in the day. Cut the kids some slack." There's a pop, and then Newt is leaning over his shoulder, pour a deep red wine into his glass, his fingertips brushing Hermann's shoulder. "Tell him thank you when you see him again."

"You've gotten your clothes back?" Hermann asks as Newt slides into the seat across from him. Newt squirms, and nods rapidly.

"Everything came in this afternoon. Kind of shocked at what they let me keep, honestly. Really, there must be some progressive-ass people doing their confiscation checks nowadays. It just took forever for them to ship it from Shanghai, but that's government slowdown for you. Everything I own from the last five years is tacky Precursor bullshit, so I dove back a bit into my collection."

"That outfit is a decade out of style," Hermann says. "Nostalgia?"

"A little. Remembering the good old days. Recreating a moment, I guess."

Hermann smiles. "Oh? A moment you have a particular fondness for?"

Newt grins back. "Cut it out. You're a sappy bastard on your most logical and rational days. For fuck’s sake, I still remember that 'handwriting of god' bullshit. Let me have my moments."

Hermann laughs and sits back into the chair. Newt's done a good job shaving, slicking up his hair, and he's not as young as he was, he's grown rounder, softer, less wiry, so his clothes fit well instead of how they always used to swim around him. But the look he gives Hermann, the spark in his eyes is still the same curious, optimistic enthusiasm as the man of a decade back. Still handsome as hell, too. Hermann is a bit vainglorious, knows he's lost some of his own youthful glow, but Newt doesn't seem to mind. It certainly hasn't doused the decades of pent up sexual want that Newt shows him in his eagerness to get his hands all over Hermann at the slightest opportunity. Hermann hasn't spent this much time concentrating on sexual matters since he was fifteen and hacking into queer porn subscription sites because he'd run out of all the free options.

"So, what are we eating?" Hermann asks. He rests his hands over the bowl in front of him and finds it warm. "You said that Jake assisted you with the set up? Can the man cook as well?"

"Maybe, but I actually asked Uncle to help with that," Newt replies. He reaches across the table and grips the bowl. "Thought we'd keep up with the nostalgia theme, since that's kind of our whole thing as millennials."

He lifts the bowl, and Hermann audibly gasps. "Spaetzle? And Bratwurst? Authentic German cooking!"

"Yep! None of the kitchen staff can make good _Deutsches_ food, and I figured since you'd been hopping from Shatterdome to Shatterdome for most of your adult life, your access to it has been limited."

"The kitchens don't generally stock this sort of thing," Hermann says, frowning. "And you've no money to buy this."

"I was told to tell you it's thanks," Newt says, lifting his own bowl to reveal the same. "Y'know. For bringing me home. Illia really likes you, dude. I was also told there would be hell to pay if I fuck this relationship up. Like, I legit might get disowned if I do."

"Well, your Uncle is quite like you, so what's not to like?"

Newt grins even wider, looking down. "See? Big old sap. Just, like, killing me with softness here, dude."

Hermann reaches over to clasp his hand. "You deserve softness, Newton. If there is one thing I aim to do, it's to ensure you feel as loved as you ought to have felt the last ten years."

"Jesus, Herms. Eat the spaetzle before I end up crying over this nice meal."

Hermann consumes the food as slowly as he can make himself. He's spent a long, hard day on coding and prototype construction, and he's famished, but the food is too delicious to waste for pure nourishment. The Bratwursts snap between his teeth, flavorful juices soaking his tastebuds, and the spaetzle is as buttery and as familiar as the meal his mother used to make for dinner quite commonly. Newt eats more slowly, seems more content to chat and soak in Hermann's presence. He twitches and shifts in his seat every so often and turns a bit red after one shift. Hermann raises a questioning eyebrow, but Newt shakes his head, smiles and pops another bite of spaetzle in his mouth.

"Delicious, absolutely fantastic," Hermann says, leaning back and sighing when he's done.

"Good. Now get up," Newt says, discarding his utensils and standing. He pulls the table to the side, and as Hermann stands, shoves the chairs away too, creating a bit of space in the center of the floor. The speaker is still playing soft music on the dresser, and Newt fiddles with it, upping the volume and changing the song. Something faster, just as jazzy but with energy begins to play. Newt turns around, steps up in front of Hermann and clasps his hand. He lifts it and presses a kiss to the knuckles. A shiver goes through Hermann's spine, and he lets Newt draw his hand down to Newt's waist. Newt wraps his one arm on the same side around Hermann's upper body, and rests the other on Hermann's shoulder, leaning his head forward to rest against Hermann's chest.

"What is this?" Hermann asks.

"I know you're not really big on dancing," Newt says. "But, I thought, has anyone ever asked you to?"

"The hip tends to make that subject a touchy one," Hermann replies. "To be honest... I can't remember any past lovers requesting such. There weren't many, anyway, after..."

"After?"

Hermann swallows and presses a kiss to Newt's head. "After I met you."

Newt laughs against his throat, nuzzling. "Twenty-two fucking years, man. Well, now that we're here, Hermann Gottlieb, may I have this, er, sway, I guess we'd call it?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

The music is slow enough that Hermann can guide them to rotate, keeping the rhythm as they go. Newt is conscientious enough to not lean his weight on Hermann, to just simply be in his space, rotating with him, and though his hip aches from the near endless day of work, Hermann wouldn't have said no to this, not for a second. Anything to be near Newt. Anything to spend time with him, now, when their time might be cut short so soon.

The music ends, and they both still. Hermann breathes in Newt's scent, strokes circles into Newt's waist with his fingers. Newt looks up at him, leans up, and presses their lips together, chastely, then less so. Hermann returns the kiss, the hand around his cane shaking as Newt's mouth becomes more insistent.

"Please tell me you're not too tired," Newt mutters. "I want to finish this night out right."

"Never for you, dear," Hermann replies. "What did you have in mind?"

"I, uh, may have already made some preparations," Newt says, clasping Hermann's hand and sliding it down from Newt's waist, behind himself, drawing Hermann's fingers lower, over the curve of Newt's backside, pressing them down against the fabric of Newt's slacks, right in the center, right where Hermann might enter him. He feels something hard.

"Told you they were very liberal in what they let me keep," Newt continues.

"You- has that been inside of you this entire time?" Hermann says, watching as Newt goes from rose to amber to maroon as he nods. "Dear lord!"

"Hermann, I wanna feel you inside me, so bad. However you want it, just tell me."

Hermann shivers and kisses him hard, pushing him back towards the bed. His cane clatters to the ground as they both fall onto the mattress, Hermann covering Newt's body with his own, grinding his hips down, listening with a great pleasure as Newt cries out, the object inside of him being driven farther in.

"Leave everything on," Hermann gasps, sitting up and fumbling at his zipper. "Unzip and turn over."

Newt nods eagerly, flicking his buttons open and yanking down the zipper as he flips onto his stomach. Hermann grabs the edges of the fabric and pulls them down and over the curve of Newt's ass, moaning when he sees the great black rounded end of the plug, sticking out like a prize for Hermann to open. He grips the end and tugs, and it slides out of Newt, who makes a low, groaning noise as it does. Then Hermann is dragging his own pants down around his knees, freeing his cock, which has gone hard from the knowledge of Newt's preparations. He drags Newt back and up, till he's on his knees, arching forward, ass up and presenting for Hermann. Hermann lines his cock up and plunges into Newt with one fell thrust.

" _Scheiße!_ " Hermann yells, while Newt cries out, "oh _fuck!_ " because Newt is opened up but still tight; the toy wasn't huge, and the pressure is intense. Newt is squirming and clenching and whining and Hermann just, he cannot take how tight Newt is, and how he's moving about, and so when he lands a stinging swat against Newt's left cheek and yells, "hold still!" should he be surprised that Newt reacts by making a soft, eager sound and clenching even harder? Really, he should know better.

"Hermann, please…fuck me!" Newt yelps, grinding back against him. Hermann takes as firm a pace as he can manage, because considering how long Newt must've had the plug in, he's got to be farther along than Hermann in approaching release, and with Newt's tightness and pointed thrusts, Hermann will catch up in due course.

Newt sings sweetly for him, noises that echo against the metal walls of the bunk. Surely the man outside can hear it. Hermann wants him to, wants him and all his allies to know that Newt isn't theirs, Newt is _his_. Perhaps that's uncouth, especially after Newt's tenuous grip over his own agency from the last ten years, but bloody _Christ_ , Hermann isn't about to let him go, will put himself between Newt and whatever comes for him. This he knows.

Hermann leans forward, bearing all his weight onto Newt until the other man drops flat against the bed. Then he drapes himself over Newt's back and presses his face to Newt's neck, hands splayed around Newt's wrists as he thrusts into him. Newt arches back against him, makes such desperate, needy noises. So vocal, so unabashedly expressive in ways that Hermann can never dream of.

Hermann's world was sepia, desaturated until Newt burst back in, bringing color and sound and light back to his life.

"Darling," Hermann mutters in his ear, nipping at the lobe, and Newt lets out a half-sob and clenches. " _Mein Schatz._ You brilliant, incomparable man."

"Hermann, fuck! You c-can't just spank me and then compliment me!"

"Says who? You're quite adorable when you're flustered," Hermann says, slowing his pace just a tad, because this is lovely, and why shouldn't he drag it out a bit, enjoy the feel of Newt's body around his prick? Newt always wants fast, fast, fast, has never been able to slow down, mind too quick, and Hermann always feels slow in comparison, hurrying to catch up, though he'd never admit it. It's almost a relief to control the pace, he's far too physically worn from the day to move with any speed or energy. It's easier to press his weight against Newt, grind his hips slowly, sweeter to hear the muffled, bitten back sounds that Newt makes against the sheets. Oh, Newt may enjoy going fast in other aspects of life, but he seems quite content now to let Hermann introduce him to slow and steady.

"Jesus, I'm forty-five, I don't get flust- oh, god, yeah, right there... Hermann, please, please babe, fuck me like that- yes, yes, shit, Hermann, _yes_!"

" _Newton_!"

Hermann feels him clench and shudder, and the tightness is enough to drive Hermann right over the edge with him, teeth dragging against Newt's shoulder as Hermann comes like a shot.

They lie there for a few moments, before Hermann presses a kiss to Newt's neck and slides out of him. Cleaning and changing takes a few moments, though it's elongated as Newt tugs Hermann's shoes and socks off and kisses his toes, ticklish brushes of his stubble making Hermann giggle like a youthful schoolboy and swat him away.

Hermann flicks off the light and crawls into bed, pulling Newt to his chest. Warm and solid, there for Hermann to hold onto in the darkness. No moonlight, far too much like the void, but it's alright, because Newt is there.

Hermann's had this fear eating inside of him for days, ever since Newt's breakdown, even worse now with the interference of JACRO and the revelation of the trial. He doesn't know what he'll do if Newt is found guilty. Whenever he tries to consider it, a great hollowness roars into his chest, too painful to think about.

_Push it away, push it all away, don't remember, don’t consider the worst, the considering hurts._

The thought of having come so far, bringing Newt back from the edge of madness, only to lose him to human machinations…

No. They'll win this, they'll prove Newt's innocence and Newt will be set free and then, and then-

_But what if they don't?_

"You're thinking very hard right now," Newt mutters. "I can literally feel you bashing your imaginary head against an imaginary wall."

"It's nothing," Hermann replies. "Pure conjecture, speculation. No need to worry over it."

"I like feeling you think. Is that weird to say? No, don't answer that, it definitely is. It's just that your brain is so ordered in contrast to my chaos. But you're in chaos right now. Nothing objectively analytical, not with that fear I'm sensing."

"Nothing you can change, then. My own anxieties and mental masturbation over the same unavoidable threats."

"Herms..." Newt shifts in the dark, sliding up to hover over Hermann, face barely an outline in the darkness.

"Yes?"

There's silence, then a brush against Hermann's mouth as Newt kisses him.

"Never mind."

Newt slides back down, and Hermann gets the faintest notion that there was something important Newt was about to say. But they remain in silence, holding one another, the nonexistence of space between their bodies a shield against the growing dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Verse Newmann for life, ya'll :D
> 
> WE'VE HIT THE 100K MARK! I KNOW QUALITY>QUANTITY BUT STILL, WOOO!


	38. Set You Free: Chapter 18

"I can't believe he came. Oh my god, is he coming just to punch me in the face? No, shut up, Newt, you idiot, he wouldn't fly across the globe for that. He's gonna help. Fuck, do I look okay, Uncle? Don't think I missed anything with the razor, and this is the least wrinkly shirt I could find in the stuff they shipped to me. Fuck, I can't talk to him, I can't. Let's just pretend we forgot and won't be available."

Illia licks his finger and turns a page of his book. "Newt, sit the hell down. You're not going anywhere, and even if we left, your lawyer has Agent Tanaka's mobile number. You can't leave this base, so you can't run away. You're psyching yourself out. Take a breath."

"I can't do-"

"Don't want to hear it. Yes, you can. He wouldn't be coming unless he wanted to help."

"You don't know that, dude! Mingxia said he wanted to talk and I said yes so fast I didn't even think about it!"

"You, not thinking before you do something? How unlike you."

"Shut up." Newt growls and paces across the floor, hands jittering in his pockets. He could crawl out of his skin, he could melt into the floor vents, he could vaporize into gas and float out through the window, he just needs out of this room, because he can't, he can't-

There’s a knock at the door.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck - "

"I guess I'll get it," Illia says, tossing the book down and standing up. "Since you're having a breakdown for absolutely no reason."

Newt tries to look calm, tries to stand up straight, tries to meet what's coming with a Gottliebian stiff upper lip.

Mingxia looks at him like he's crazy as she steps into the room, but then she moves to the side, and Newt sees a face he hasn't laid eyes on since they closed the breach.

"Newt," Tendo Choi says, smirking in his bowtie and rolled up sleeves, the picture of calm. "Man, get your ass over here."

Newt beams, all the nonsense, overwrought fear disappearing as he lunges forward. Tendo meets him halfway, pulling him into a firm hug, smacking him on the back, laughing.

Tendo's face has grown lines just as deep as Newt’s own, and Newt wants to ask him about whether he's got his own set of nightmares to deal with after the war. He seems sunny, greeting Newt's uncle with his usual self-assurance and charm, the personality Newt remembers won him friends and lovers in droves. The confidence Newt always wished he had. But Tendo makes you feel like you're the only person in the room that matters. By the time Illia and Mingxia have agreed to give them some time to chat and leave the room, Newt feels them settling into their old patterns: Tendo an all-encompassing presence, Newt eager to be graced with it.

"I saw pictures of you from the Sydney conference," Tendo says as they sit down. "Vests, Newt? Really, brother?"

"Call it a cry for help," Newt says. "I, uh, wasn't in the best place then."

"Yeah, kinda figured that out after the news reports from MegaTokyo."

"Yeah..." Newt drifts off as the guilt slowly creeps back over him. Tendo must notice, because he rests a hand on Newt's shoulder squeezing it.

"I missed you, my friend. After we get you out of this mess, you should come visit me and my people."

"How's Allison? I mean, you guys, you're still-"

"Yeah. Things got better after I left the PPDC. I got to be a husband and a dad again. We're doing really good."

"That's, I mean, that's awesome, man. God, how old is your kid?"

"Twelve, going on 'oh my fuck I'm about to have a teenager.'"

Newt laughs. "I can't believe I missed seeing you raise a kid." And, shit, there he goes, bringing the mood of the room down again. "Fuck. I can't believe I missed that."

"Hey. You didn't miss anything too interesting. And you're back now. We're all happy about that, Hermann especially, from the emails I’ve gotten. He's using exclamation points, my dude. Is that your doing?"

"I mean, we've both experienced some drift bleed, I think. He's a little more chaotic, I'm a little more cautious-"

"Not what I meant, Geislzer."

"Then what did you...?"

Tendo smiles, and _oh,_ oh that's what he's asking.

Newt frowns. "He didn't tell you?"

"I kept asking, but he said you should be the one to talk to me."

"You guys were never close the way you and I got," Newt says, nodding.

"Makes sense, now," Tendo says, snorting. "He probably thought I was competition for your affections."

"Yeah, well, you slept with half the base before you settled down with Ally."

"I was a young, full-blooded pansexual dude, and there was plenty of opportunity, so sue me!"

"Hey, you know I don't judge, man. Just saying, we could've been the most fashionable queer power couple in the Shatterdome."

Tendo rolls his eyes like a man who's long suffered this conversation. "Yeah, but you were head over heels for somebody else, might I remind you."

"Hmmm, yeah. Still am."

"So, then you both...?"

Newt grins, and just nods.

"Geiszler, my man! You've finally settled down. It only took you eight years to make good on your commitment."

"My commitment?" 

Tendo nods, shifting in his seat. "Yeah. You remember when you invited me and Ally to your new digs in Shanghai back in the day?"

"Can't say that I do, dude. The hivemind has pretty much wiped every memory I have from back then." So, he didn’t ghost on Tendo after the war after all, but he can't remember seeing him face-to-face.

"Yeah, well, now it makes sense that I didn't hear from you again after the last time. Your lawyer says the running theory is that something happened when you were working on the A.L.I.C.E. project, and I saw you just before that ended. It's why I came here, to be honest. I was hoping I could trigger some of your memories."

"What did we talk about, Tends?" Newt asks, leaning forward. "Tell me everything you remember."

~

_August 2027_

_There's a lovely breeze coming through the open balcony door, and Tendo steps outside, frosty beer in one hand, gripping the hand rail with the other. The city skyline is magnificent; whatever Liwen is paying Newt, he's certainly taken advantage of being able to afford a nice view, though apparently he’s not taking any other advantage, because Newt's furniture is still half-nailed together IKEA drek, and he still dresses like a Pete-Wentz-circa-2005 wannabe. But even Newt needs some splurge of luxury, and Tendo knows Newt loves to look out at the sea. Tendo isn't sure whether that love stems from a yearning to explore it, or a fear of what it could one day unleash. But from up this high, he has a clear, unbroken view over the horizon._

_Ally is on the phone with their son, the little tyke babbling away happily as three-year olds do. He's being watched by Tendo's mother in law, because the idea of flying any distance with a toddler, even from Beijing to Shanghai, is unbearable. Besides, they've both missed doing adult activities, and Newt had promised to show them around the city, so far delivering on his tour guide skills: they’ve been to multiple major sightseeing areas, three stellar hole in the wall eateries, half a dozen shops with a variety of fascinating goods, and now Newt is serving liquor and salt cooked swordfish on Sunday night before they fly out in the morning._

_Newt was beaming when they stepped off the plane, and clung to Tendo a bit long, a bit hard, a bit lonesome. Phone calls and emails haven't sufficed. Tendo knows he's by himself here, no one else from the Shatterdome landed in Shanghai. At least Tendo has Ally, but the person Tendo thought Newt would have isn't here._

_Newt won't tell him what happened, why he and Hermann drifted apart. Tendo was so damn sure that night they closed the breach - slipping past the two of them to go call his wife and tell her the good news - he was so sure that something had clicked between them. Hermann never showed emotions besides annoyance, anger and frustration, but the way he looked at Newt in that moment, so unguarded in his fondness, it was instantly obvious to Tendo how much Hermann truly loved Newt._

_Newt's love for Hermann was already a subject of a few drunken tirades that Newt had unleashed to Tendo before soberly pleading for him not to say anything. Of course, Tendo wasn't going to, it wasn't his damn business, even if the wistful looks Newt shot Hermann - across the lab, the cafeteria, the small and large spaces of the Shatterdome - made Tendo's own heart break a little. He remembered looking at Ally like that, wanting what he didn't think he could have, having to pretend everything was alright, that life would move on, ‘enduring this’ as Yeye had commanded, until one day they'd looked at each other and enduring wasn't enough anymore._

_Tendo doesn't understand how Newt still endures this._

_So, when Newt steps out onto the balcony, face plastered with the outer shell of happiness he's been wearing like an ill-fitting suit since Tendo has come, but hollowness in his eyes, Tendo asks, "Do you still love him?"_

_Newt's body locks, foot half raised across the threshold. He looks away, far away from Tendo. Tendo imagines he's looking back through time, parsing the memories he's suppressed._

_"I don't want to," Newt says, finally moving, crossing the rest of the way out into the open air and shutting the door. "But… shit, I don't know how to stop."_

_"What happened, Newt?"_

_"He doesn't want me, Tends. He wants his equations and his chalkboards and peace and quiet." Newt leans over the railing, swirling the beer around inside his bottle._

_"Did he say that?" Tendo leans forward with him. The heights of this balcony remind him of the video feeds they used to see from the Jaeger cameras, towering over the cities, though this view is much more peaceful, and the city teems with life below._

_"He implied it."_

_"How?"_

_"I wrote him a note. Told him everything. Left it right in the middle of his desk, so he would’ve seen it. He didn't respond, and he avoided me that last week in the 'dome. How am I supposed to take that?"_

_Tendo runs a hand across his face, because good Saint Mary, for a man with six degrees, Newt is so fucking stupid sometimes._

_"Newt, I don't think he saw it."_

_"The fuck are you smoking, Tends?"_

_"My man, you must've had your head so far up your ass if you didn't know, but Gottlieb didn't leave his bunk that whole week. He was sick after the drift and needed to recover."_

_"What? But his whole lab was packed up!"_

_"Yeah, on Hansen's orders. They were clearing the base, they couldn't wait on one sick guy to get better. Heard he threw a shit fit when he found out. Guess they didn't color code his chalk correctly or something."_

_Newt snorts, sipping from his bottle. "Well... fuck. I mean, even so, he would've seen it in his new lab."_

_Tendo gives him a look. "How much shit have you forgotten you still own from the last five labs you've worked out of? For all you know, it's sitting in the bottom of a box, or it got tossed in the trash by an overeager packing assistant."_

_"You don't think...?"_

_Tendo shrugs. "I don't know man. All I know is that you don't know for sure."_

_"So, you think he, maybe he doesn't know?"_

_And for the first time all weekend, Tendo sees that spark back in Newt's eyes, like he's realized a new, wild, impossible theory that needs testing._

_"It's possible. He's never mentioned it in your emails?"_

_"No. I assumed he was too mortified to bring up the subject." Newt downs the last of his beer, setting the bottle onto the balcony floor. "I never tried to push it. We had other things to discuss."_

_"He must not hate you, if he's willing to consult on this super-secret project you're working on. But if he doesn't know, and you jumped ship to Shanghai without talking to him again, put two and two together, Newt."_

_"He thinks I'm the one who rejected- fuck!" Newt slams his fist against the railing. "Fuck, Tends, I'm a fucking idiot!"_

_"That's the right word to use in this situation, yeah."_

_Newt flips him off but seems angrier at himself than Tendo. "Shit. I need to go see him. Like, like getting on a plane tomorrow and finding him. I can't live like this, Tends. I mean, I've tried, I've really tried."_

_"But you can't endure it anymore," Tendo says, nodding. "I get it, man."_

_"Hold on, I'm gonna-" Newt pulls out his phone, and starts typing away. "He only responds to emails now, says texting is a modern excuse to proliferate bad grammar. What the shit, right? He wasn’t like that before. I think he's gotten even more uptight since I haven't been there to chill him out. More drawn in on himself. Won't even answer phone calls. Fuck, I miss his voice, I miss everything about him, even the stupid shit that used to drive me crazy."_

_"You need us to give you some privacy?"_

_"Nah, just… there," Newt says, pocketing the phone again. He's grinning, and his hand shifts into that pocket, like he wants to check and see if in the last three seconds there's been a response. "I'm flying out to LA next week, but I've got some time off to burn in October. I think I'll be paying him a visit."_

_Tendo smirks and smacks him firmly on the shoulder a few times, not in anger but in commiseration. "I'll await the wedding invitation in the mail."_

_Newt laughs, going a little red, but he doesn't say anything, and he looks a little too pleased to not be considering Tendo's comment._

_~_

Back in the modern day, Newt's throat is closing, his fingers are gripping into his pants. What Tendo is telling him cuts a knife right through his heart, because if it's true, then he was going to go to Hermann, confess his feelings, and Newt now knowns Hermann would've reciprocated.

But if he'd done that, he wouldn't be in the situation he is right now, so he obviously never took that trip. Something happened in those last few months.

"Breathe, Newt," Tendo says, a hand on his shoulder, rubbing. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Yeah, the ghost of what could've been apparently," Newt replies. "Fuck. This still doesn't make sense, though. Hermann told me we barely corresponded, and he doesn't know anything about the A.L.I.C.E. project. But you said I told you I was consulting with him?"

Tendo nods. "It was extremely top secret, you weren't supposed to tell anybody, I think. But, I mean, it's Hermann. That you'd go running to him to dish details isn't surprising in the least bit."

"Then there's three options. Either I was already under Precursor control and lying to you, which doesn't make sense if A.L.I.C.E. was still in PPDC custody. Or Hermann is lying to me, which, yeah, _no_. Or... I was corresponding with someone I thought was Hermann."

"Someone posing as him?"

"Yeah- fuck, dude, now Liwen's data makes sense!" Newt sees the pieces sliding into place, the picture becoming just the slightest bit clearer. "I was corresponding with someone at the LA Shatterdome during this exact time period. Hermann was in Nagasaki, and there aren't any records on my IP address of messages sent to that base. But if someone in LA was posing as him..."

"Holy shit, man," Tendo says, nodding along, following what he's saying. "Someone didn't want you talking to him while you were working on this project."

"What the fuck, Tends?" Newt stands, pacing across the floor, then turning and pacing back the other way. "So, they just set up a _fake Hermann_ for me to talk to? Why?"

Tendo shrugs his shoulders. "Like I said. That you'd go running to blab to Hermann isn't surprising to anyone who's studied your MO for five seconds. Knowing my man Gottlieb, he'd have read your first email about trying to reestablish any sort of connection to the Anteverse, even through artificial means, and flipped his shit. Probably screamed about theoretical models and the risks you were taking, the possibility of re-opening the Breach by giving the Precursors any sort of access to our dimension again. He's always kind of kept you level-headed...ish."

"So," Newt says. "He'd have tried to get me to stop."

"Yeah," Tendo nods. "But pop a fake Hermann in your email, make him sound just enough like the one we know, but encouraging of your insanity instead of cautious, and boom. They've got themselves a Newt eager to work and itching to prove himself to his partner again."

"This is all conjecture, and so far out of Occam's Razor territory, Tends." Now they're talking a fucking _conspiracy_ right under Newt's nose. He's heard of plenty of shady shit going on under PPDC control, and in the grand scheme of things, fake email accounts are trivial, but still. Someone wanted to keep him isolated from Hermann. Someone was worried about what would happen if Hermann found out about the A.L.I.C.E. project.

"I'm going to testify as a character witness for you," Tendo says. "I'll tell them about this."

"It's not gonna matter though, the prosecution will just say I lied under Precursor influence or some bullshit."

"Well, if we can find those emails, then Hermann can testify that he didn't send them, and the IP data will probably match. That's at least something."

"So, you're gonna stick around?" Newt asks. Oh, he sounds so pathetically needy right now, standing here all hopeful-eyed and vocally yearning. "I mean, until the trial?"

Tendo grins at him. "Of course, man. I'm here for you. We're gonna get you acquitted and then I'm buying you so many drinks that we'll have to carry you out of the Boneslums."

"Yeah! Yeah, let's do that."

Newt smiles. In his mind, he's moved the dial on his percentage chance of winning this trial another couple of points to, oh twenty, twenty-five percent now? That's better than the zero percent chance he started out with, before Mingixa came into the picture, but there's still so much he's in the dark about.

The answers are all locked away in his head, and he's running out of time to get them out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter going up got delayed by me writing 20k words of... something else. Something special that you all will hopefully enjoy very soon >:D


	39. Set You Free: Chapter 19

"You're certain you're ready?" Hermann asks.

Newt nods, adjusting the Pons straps. "We fixed another memory without drifting, but we can't wait around for that to magically happen again. I’m just hoping that with the A.L.I.C.E. project memory being fixed, the Precursor influence has waned enough so that what happened last time... doesn't." A tight prickling in his chest emerges, and he shoves it away. It happens every time he thinks about that moment. Crawling in the void, trying to sense Hermann’s presence, only latching onto it when Hermann’s pain cut through his mind like a gutting knife.

"I’ll be alright, Newton," Hermann says. "I'm planning on being rather careful with any variations of you I encounter in your memories in the future."

"I should've brought popcorn," Tendo says from the corner. He and Illia are chilling in the usual audience spot in Hadiyya’s lab, bonding over stories about parenthood, which is a little creepy, since Tendo is talking about a twelve-year-old and Illia is talking about _him_.

Illia waves a hand. "It's not that interesting. Mostly they jerk around a little, and occasionally someone gets a nosebleed. My circuitry courses with the cadets are far more interesting."

"You're teaching circuitry to the brats?" Newt asks. "What the hell? I feel so betrayed, Uncle, that's our thing! When do you even have time?"

"After Hermann comes to collect you, of course. Ranger Reyes and I were discussing how she's wanted to give the Rangers a crash course in the cockpit wiring, so they can fix it mid-battle, but she's far too busy with training them in other things and actual J-Tech work, so I volunteered to assist. The wiring is kind of complex, but nothing that took more than a couple of weeks to understand." Illia’s face lights up while he’s talking, and he looks so happy to be helping. He hasn't really had much to do, other than when he’s stuck babysitting his nephew like Newt is an infant again. So, Newt can't really begrudge him this.

"Try to think back to that year, whatever you believe you remember from it," Hermann says to him, and Newt rolls his eyes, because, _duh._ "Oh, do stop that. Let me fuss over you, it's my natural state."

"Doesn’t mean it’s not obnoxious as hell, sometimes," Newt counters.

“Zip it, the both of you,” Hadiyya says. “Have your couples’ squabbles another time. I have data to collect.”

Newt presses his hands over his heart in a fake mockery of pain. “Diys, how could you prioritize cold, hard science over our adorable bickering? Does love mean nothing to you?”

He hears Hermann sigh next to him. “Just send us into the bloody, drift, Hadiyya. 

“Gladly!” Hadiyya says chipperly as she presses the Pons power button.

 

 

_KSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH_

 

_static?_

 

 

_KSSHHHHHayya 'alas-SalahHHHHHHHHH_

 

 

 

_Newt?_

 

 

 

_KSSHHHHHayya 'alal FalahHHHHHHHHHH_

 

 

_Where are y-_

 

_NOT HERE NOT HERE JUST HOLD ON I'M COMING JUST_

 

 

_Newton!_

 

 

_GET YOU OUT OF HERE I PROMISE I-_

 

 

  _dr._ _geiszler?_

 

 

 

_here_

 

 

_i'm here_

 

 

_i was always here_

 

 

 

 

_but just a fragment_

 

 

There's a dog barking somewhere in the distance, its high-pitched yaps bouncing through the narrow alleyways between the brick rowhouses that line the otherwise quiet street. Spring leaves shift and rustle, a light breeze drawing smells of flowers and sprouting foliage. Far off, the rumble of vehicle motors hint towards a more urbanized area.

The small yards in front of each rowhouse are fenced in by white pickets, and in this particular yard, a young boy with deep black hair, golden brown skin and curious, and inquisitive green eyes (familiar somehow, how are they familiar…?) kneels in the grass, playing with a toy dump truck. He's dressed in a bright green t-shirt, a familiar yellow sponge jumping with glee pasted across the front of it. The front door to the house is open, though the screen door has been pulled across to keep out bugs.

 

_ammi hated bugs, always had me catch them and release, never kill_

 

The boy pushes himself up using the dump truck and then grips the sides of the basket, jerking it forward and zooming across the grass. He crashes it against the side of the fire truck that lies near the front edge of the fence, jerking forward before he catches himself. He's not more than four or five years old, still uncoordinated and searching out this world, learning how it operates, the physics and processes of the universe. The boy pushes upwards to stand, to look out over the fence, and there is a man across the street, watering flowers, who spies the boy and gives him a friendly wave. On the porch of the house beside that one is another man, older and gripping a bottle, who scowls when the boy turns his head to look at him.

 

_heard mr. barnabus call father a terrorist under his breath once, bastard of a man, mr. waters and his husband were nice though_

 

" _Bhai_ , look!"

Newt stands in the corner of the yard, smelling a delicious, wafting scent curling through the screen door, and looks on at the memory that is not his, as a young girl, dressed in a long-sleeved blue shirt, jeans, and a light pink hijab takes the steps up to the yard two at a time. She is both unknown and familiar at once, just like the boy had been, as if Newt has met them both in another time. She's got a rope gripped tightly in her fist, and at the end of it, a shaggy looking creature is following, its tail wagging excitedly, covered in grime and dirt and no collar in sight.

"A doggy!" The boy shouts, opening the gate from sidewalk to yard. The girl and the dog bound inside, and the dog pants and jumps at the boy, licking his face. The breed is indecipherable, something crossed with something else and crossed again another half-dozen times, likely a street mutt. It's excited to be given this kind of attention, and the boy shrieks with laughter as its tongue draws stripes across his cheeks. 

Someone calls out from inside the house, in a language Newt has no knowledge of. The girl responds in kind, and a woman appears in the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered. She's related to the girl, obvious by her features, and she looks to have been dressed in a formal pants suit with a matching black hijab, but her heels have been kicked off and the jacket has disappeared, leaving only the white dress shirt. The woman's eyes train on the dog. Newt can see the calculation working on her face, the two conflicting reactions she could have to these children, probably her children, bringing home a stray animal.

 

_indulged us far too much i think, but she had a soft spot for outcasts_

 

The children are staring at her, wide eyed and hopeful, and finally the woman sighs and opens the screen door. She shouts sharply, giving directions, and both children yelp and whoop in delight and run towards her, bounding into her for a hug. The dog barks and tries to wiggle his way in to the group, but the woman nudges him back out into the garden. Probably, he'll be getting a bath before he's allowed inside.

 

_father was annoyed but i think she sweet-talked him_

 

"Newton?"

Newt turns, and Hermann is standing next to him, outside the garden fence, looking over the scene.

"This isn't my memory," Newt says, and Hermann scoffs, because _obviously._  

"Well, it isn't mine either," Hermann says, eyes flicking over to Newt. "So then, whose is it?"

 

_do you see her?_

 

"Do you hear that?" Newt asks.

"Hear what?" Hermann replies.

 

_do you see her, dr. geiszler?_

 

"That," Newt says. "Another voice."

"Hivemind?"

"No, I don't think-"

The scene begins to dissolve, draining downwards like paint running down walls, and Newt grips Hermann's arm, watching the scene swirl into the void, liquid colors twisting around and around, draining into the darkness.

 

_find her_

 

"I don't know who she is!" Newt says, and Hermann frowns at him, but if Hermann can't hear this, it's something buried so deep in his brain that the signals won't cross the neural link, which should be impossible, because once two minds are connected they share everything-

_Unless it came from a different mind_ , Newt thinks.

 

_find her_

 

And the darkness roars up for them, but something else is pushing them away, and Newt digs his nails into Hermann's arm and drags up, up, _up, up_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_find her_

 

 

"Find who?" Newt asks when he opens his eyes to the real world. "Find who?"

"What was that?" Hermann asks, visibly distressed. "Newton, _whose memory was that?_ "

"What's going on?" Hadiyya asks, pushing away from the console to come check on their vital signs. "Hermann, Newt, what did you see?"

"It wasn't mine, and it wasn't Hermann's, it was someone else's," Newt says to her. Tendo and Illia are silent but leaning forward. Maybe Tendo should've brought popcorn.

"Another person's memory?" Hadiyya says. "That's literally impossible, Newt. The only way you'd have that in your head is if-"

"If I drifted with another person."

It’s the only explanation, and yet it explains nothing. It's not unusual to feel echoes of the drift compatible minds you've connected to in the past. But there's an entire _memory_ from someone else lodged in his head, so clear and vivid. How does that happen?

Newt glances over to Hermann, and the expression on his face… oh no. "Herms, I don't- I don't remember _anything!_ "

"It doesn't matter," Hermann says, lifting off the helmet. He places it on the rolling cart beside the chair, gently, hands shaking as they come away. "Obviously at some point you thought it pertinent to join your mind with someone else's."

He’s angry. Newt can feel the undercurrent of disappointment, the sense of betrayal as Hermann stares down at his lap, and part of Newt is bucking back against that sentiment, because it's just the drift! Pilots test their compatibility with half a dozen people before they find the right one! Newt would find it more reasonable for Hermann to be jealous if Newt had slept around during their ten years apart, even though they weren't together, and Hermann's claim to him was non-existent. At least, then, the rules of romantic relationships would make sense. But this doesn't. There's no road map for how to navigate this conversation, for how Newt can erase the pained look on Hermann's face. It shouldn't be there. There's nothing to be jealous of.

Except it feels like there is.

Newt reaches out and clasps Hermann's hand. "I'm sorry," he says.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Hermann replies, hand limp in Newt’s, no response to the gesture. "I had only assumed, only thought..."

"If I did it, Herms, it was done unwillingly. I've never wanted a different drift partner."

"How do you know that?" Hermann asks. "How can you possibly be certain?"

"I- fuck. Because the one through line in this fucked up head of mine was that the Precursors could never change was how much I love you, dude! Connecting with anyone else like that, just, _no._ I would never have done it if I had any control over the situation."

"Gentlemen, while this is all lovely and heartwarming," Hadiyya interrupts, "data collection is important. Could you let me know what you saw?"

Hermann still won't look at him, but Newt refuses to let go of his hand.

"We were in someone's yard," Newt begins. “There was a boy, maybe six or seven…”

He starts to lay out the memory, but at the mention of the neighbors’ names, Hadiyya's pen stops scribbling across the paper. She looks up at him, pale, with wide eyes.

"What?" Newt asks.

"It couldn't- the little boy, Newt, what did the woman call him?"

"I- I don't remember her saying a name?"

"Was it Fudvi?"

Newt frowns. The name is familiar, but not from the dream. Where has he heard that...?

"Wait," Newt says. "The guy who was running the research team on the A.L.I.C.E. project? Fudvi Chachar?"

Hadiyya drops her pen and presses a hand to her mouth.

“Hadiyya?” Hermann asks, leaning forward. “Good lord, are you quite alright?”

“Diys, what’s wrong?” Newt echoes. “What is it?”

"You knew my brother," Hadiyya says, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "What happened to my brother, Newt? _What happened to Fudvi?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya'll know i love cliffhangers by this point :3


	40. Set You Free: Chapter 20

After she's calmed down, Hadiyya lays out what she knows.

"Pitafi is my married name," she says, twisting the ring on her finger that Newt has been oblivious to up until now. "My wife's family. People who know us know that Fudvi is my brother, but I suppose it's not something you'd have put together."

"I barely remember the guy," Newt says, backpedaling when he sees Hadiyya wince. "I mean, it's not like I wanted to forget him. I just, I literally _can't_ remember."

Hadiyya nods. "My brother is, well, was brilliant," she says. "We never felt very welcomed by our neighbors and classmates, so we spent a lot of time together, developed very similar passions. He also studied neurology but combined that with a xenobiology degree later. And he loved the Kaiju, just as much as you do, Newt. Was quite a fan of yours, actually? I’m honestly shocked he never mentioned you, if you worked together. Anyway, while my focus fixated on drift tech, his went towards understanding the neural processing of Kaiju brains."

"So then, he must've had a rough time of it, right before the end of the war, with everyone focused on the Wall," Hermann replies.

He's perched on the edge of Newt's chair, comfortably in Newt’s personal space. Thankfully the shock of Hadiyya's revelation seems to have driven all the jealousy out of him, at least for now. There will likely be a conversation to be had later, one that Newt dreads.

"Yes. Before the war, he'd been wasting away in academia, wanting to implement his knowledge proactively. After the war, the PPDC was looking to bolster their scientific prowess, and he jumped at the chance. The last I knew, he was working on microbots that could be injected into a Kaiju's bloodstream _in vivo,_ that would work their way to the brain and completely fry their neural processing capacities. And you know, he almost seemed sad about the success they were having with the program."

Newt gets it. There was always something bittersweet in that all his efforts would lead to the destruction of the Kaiju. Before he'd known they were Precursor-designed, Newt had an ecologist's twinge of the desire to preserve them, in safe and controlled spaces - perhaps a pocket Anteverse? - and he still does find them somewhat magnificent in their design, but it's tempered by the knowledge that they only exist as weapons of war, designed to wipe all life from the surface of the planet.

"Anyway, I know he was excited to be working for the PPDC," Hadiyya says. "He would write to me after they transferred him to Los Angeles, talking about being on the cutting edge of understanding Kaiju neurology, saying that by understanding the way their brains are structured, we might better understand those that created them."

"So, what happened?" Hermann asks. "Er, well, I suppose you asked that question of Newton, but the context is quite unclear."

A long shadow stretches across Hadiyya's face, a story poised on the tip of her tongue. Newt can feel a tense spring coiling at the base of his spine, some primal, instinctual anxiety.

"Eight years ago, there was an accident," Hadiyya says. "We were notified that Fudvi had been part of a research team whose experiment had gone wrong. They wouldn't say what it was, what part he'd played, what had been done to him. He was discharged and flown back to London to stay with myself and my wife. When he got there..."

Hadiyya stops, takes a breath. They wait for her to compose herself again.

"When he came,” she continues, “he was nothing like himself. He'd always been loud and joyful, but now he barely spoke. He was unable to focus on any topic for more than a few moments, and then his mind would wander right off. He'd stare at me like he was trying to remember who I was, and when I asked him about our childhood and memories, he had no recollection of them. He’s become more functional, recovered a lot of his general affect and executive functioning, but none of his memories. And all that brilliance, his beautiful mind, it, it’s just gone. He can’t return to his work, so we’ve been caring for him."

"Eight years..." Hermann begins.

"Yeah," Newt says. "It matches the timeline. Whatever happened to your brother, Diys, it happened because of the A.L.I.C.E. project, I'd bet every last penny I- er, shit. I don't have money anymore, do I? Well, I'd bet anything that something happened during that project."

"That's what I've been trying to find out," Hadiyya says. "Why I said I'd do contract work for the PPDC, hoping I could find someone who knew Fudvi. I suppose that's why I was so keen on helping you both. I couldn't stand seeing someone else lose their mind like you had, Newt."

"We'll find out what happened," Newt says, nodding. "Swear to god, before this is all over, we'll find out, okay? You deserve that much for everything you've done, Diys."

 _Even if I was the one who caused this,_ Newt thinks.

~

"Go ahead."

Hermann shuts the door to their room and turns around, leans back against it, bearing his weight on his good leg. Newt is in front of him, arms folded, eyes downcast but mouth a thin, determined line.

"What?" Hermann asks, sighing and gripping his cane against his chest like an anchor. Or a weapon, like he did when Newt and he stormed Liwen's lab, high on the endorphin rush of the elevator fight moments before. The rush gave him the courage to wrap his arms around Newt then, embrace him and feel the warmth of the man he'd yearned for, and the bowed way Newt stands in on himself makes Hermann want to repeat the gesture. But he senses that's not what Newt told him to 'go ahead' for.

"Tell me off," Newt says, shoulders high like a cat's fur standing on end in defense. "I know you want to. I remember all your non-verbal cues, and right now your body is screaming to let me have it."

"Nonsense," Hermann replies, lying to himself. His fingers grip the wood of the cane tightly. The little vein in his forehead that would throb whenever Newt did something lunatic is beating a dull drum against his skull, and he can hear the barest of squeaks as his teeth grind together.

"Would you just- Jesus fucking _Christ_ , Hermann." Newt's hands go into his hair, like always when he's stressed or anxious or frustrated. Newt isn't the only one who’s picked up his partners' non-verbals in the last twenty plus years. "I know you're mad at me because I drifted with Hadiyya's brother. Not like I even _remember_ it, or even know _why_ I did it, but you're still mad, and I'm not making the mistake of us not communicating because, yeah, we know what happened last time. So just tell me off already."

"I have no _right_ to, Newton. It isn't as if I had any claim on you back then, and even if I'd had, well, it isn't as if drifting with someone else can be considered... cheating."

He hasn't any right to the knot of jealousy that squirms in his chest, or the flare of possessiveness that makes him want every part of Newt all to himself. Primarily, those feelings made concrete would be the actions of an abuser, and secondarily, they demand a level of control over Newt that shies far too close to Precursor possession than is comfortable.

"Can't it be, though?" Newt replies. "If I was in love with you and never wanted to share my headspace with anyone else, because anyone else wouldn't be _you_ , Herms? And then I went and did it anyway? I wouldn't have even been in a position to do so if I'd just opened my mouth and had been honest with you."

"Back to this _again_? Bloody hell, Newton, are we to circle the same drain forever, wherein you flagellate yourself over mistakes whose consequences you could have never foreseen? Whatever happened, I know your intentions were-"

"My intentions, dude? Fuck my intentions, I don't get out of causing twenty-thousand people to die just because I _intended_ to do good! Just because somebody doesn't intend to, like, kill another person, doesn't mean there aren't consequences if they do. The fuck do you think degrees of murder are for, shits and giggles?"

Hermann scowls. "Any degree of murder implies some level of control over the situation, control which, I'll remind you, you had taken from you far before the MegaTokyo event. You were possessed for _years_ , Newton. Years during which any of us who were close to you could've reached out and noticed something wrong before it was too late. Years where Liwen Shao gave you free reign to do what you wanted if you made her a profit, no oversight that could've caught your tampering. We are all as culpable as you."

" _Bullshit_ ," Newt snarls, and now his eyes go up, now he steps closer. Now he looks like the old Newt, scrapping for a fight. "None of them made the choice to drift with a goddamned alien sentience, and you only did it to save my life, and you didn't go back for another round of head-fucking by the hivemind. I made that choice, Hermann."

"We don't know that," Hermann says. "It's becoming clearer that there was something underhanded occurring during that project. What if you were forced to drift with the brain again? Coerced?"

"Even if I was, I joined the damn A.L.I.C.E. project in the first place, so I put myself in that position, which wouldn't have happened, again, if I'd just been honest-"

"Why are you so intended on my being angry with you?" Hermann puts his weight back on the cane, stepping closer, trying to keep his voice down. "What compels you to continue to try to find reasons I should blame you for twenty-thousand dead?"

Newt jabs him in the chest with his index finger. "Because you _are_ pissed with me, but for the wrong reason. You're furious that I let somebody else in my head and you won't admit it, but you're still in goddamn denial about MegaTokyo and my part in it, and how the hell are we supposed to get past this all if you don't deal with your shit?"

"Fine!" Hermann snaps, shoving his hand away. "What would you have me say? That I'm unreasonably jealous that someone besides me got to touch that exquisite mind of yours? That you had some part, however minimal your control, in the Breach reopening? What would my admitting to either of those things _help_ , Newton? It doesn't solve the problem at hand, it doesn't get you acquitted from your war crimes trial, so what's the _point_?"

"The point-" And suddenly Newt's eyes light up, like he's had a grand revelation. "The point is that you've been so focused on me and what I need that you don't deal with what _you_  need, Hermann. I mean, Jesus, you're just as traumatized as I am. You told me you had _nightmares_  about the hivemind, and that was before you jacked into my fucked up possessed brain to try and wrench me out of it. And you don't let yourself get mad at me, not really, not like you should, and you don't see a therapist, and you take on all my fucking emotional crises and shit, and you got attacked by the hivemind, and had a breakdown after I got arrested, at which point I told you to stop carrying everything by yourself, but you still keep pretending you're alright. I call bullshit, which, I mean, I'm the bullshit master, so I know a thing or two, and you, Hermann Gottlieb, _are not alright_."

Hermann vacillates between rage and defeat in rapid succession, half of his mind wanting to let this devolve into a screaming match, the other half wanting to lie down on the floor and let the weight of it all finally wash over him. The damnable thing of it all is that Newt would probably be happy with either of those scenarios.

He closes his eyes, taking a breath, trying to avoid doing either. "So, you want me to scream bloody murder at you? Let it all out so you know it's there? Because that doesn't sound like a healthy release of my emotions."

"No, I- okay. I shouldn't have told you to yell at me. I just... just talk to me." Hermann feels a hand on his arm and peeks his eyes open. Newt's shoulders are down, body looser, no longer looking for that fight. "I told you before, I- well, _you_ pay a therapist to let me unload all my toxic trauma without expecting anything in return. I don't want you to be my therapist, Herms, and I mean, I know you like taking care of me, dude, but you ever think I like taking care of you too?"

Hermann scowls. "I am…"

Fine. He wants to say fine. He can't though, because he's not.

Damn Newt and his occasional astute observations of Hermann's demeanor.

Hermann hasn't been fine in a long time, and finally having Newt in his life again, as his partner, it didn't fix everything. Real life is not a fairy tale, and true love's kiss did not set the world to rights.

It should be more bearable, now that Newt is by his side, but he was so focused on saving Newt for so long, he wasn't thinking about what would come after. And the after is worse, because he feels so _useless_.

When he was drifting with Newt, everything was on his shoulders, and Newt's return was his responsibility. But now he's forced to leave the important things to people like Mingxia and Raleigh and Tendo, who are all lovely and wonderful people that they're lucky to know, but Newt's fate feels out of his hands. There are only so many people in the Shatterdome whom he trusts to ask about underhanded goings on in the PPDC, and fewer still whom have given them any relevant information. No one knows about the A.L.I.C.E. project here, and he can't very well fly out to LA without inviting questions and risking Newt's safety. He's terrified to even leave the base, to leave Newt in the company of anyone but himself or Illia. 

Time is running out, and all they have is a scant bit of information about a secret project that _might_  be related to Newt's possession, but no proof, no hard evidence. Hadiyya can show the judges as many DEEG scans of Newt's mind as she likes, explain that he'd had no control, the hivemind had done it all, and yet what if it doesn't matter? What if they look at Newt and see a power-hungry, mad scientist who risked the whole world for access to the hivemind, to sate his own greed for knowledge?

They won't see the energetic, sarcastic, brilliant, reckless but heroic-minded xenobiologist Hermann worked besides, at first in mutual hatred, then begrudging respect, then uncertain fondness, and finally overwhelming love. They won't see the Newton Geiszler that he sees, the one who put his literal life on the line to stop the apocalypse. The one Hermann refused to let go alone into the unknowing of the hivemind a second time, who turned to him on the streets of Hong Kong with shock, hair whipping in the wind and rain, and looked at Hermann like he was the sun coming up over the horizon, bringing the dawn.

That's the Newton Geiszler that everyone needs to see, that Hermann needs to show them.

But if his words won't be enough, if his truth of who Newt is won't be enough, then they must find another way.

"Hermann, where did you go? You in there?"

Hermann nods his head, realizing they've been standing there silently for at least a good minute.

"Apologies. You are right, I should be talking with you about these matters. I will continue to protest your belief that you are fully culpable for what’s occurred, but... I confess, I am furious that you drifted with someone else. Even if logically, hell, even morally, I have no right to be."

Newt closes the distance between them, pressing flush against Hermann and resting his forehead on Hermann's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I mean it, dude. I love arguing and hyperbolic screaming matches with you over intellectual bullshit, and throwing dumb insults at each other like 'kaiju groupie' and 'stuffed sweater grandpa,' but I fucking hate when I do shit that really hurts you, yanno?"

"You really have no reason to apologize for this," Hermann murmurs, stroking a hand down his spine. "But I will accept your apology for past transgressions instead. Specifically, your mockery of my wartime dress style."

"I take it back," Newt says, smiling against his shoulder. "You can't use my apology for my cutting yet truthful burns of your lack of fashion sense. Besides, you're much more stylish now, which I'm chalking up to years of my slowly whittling your love of tweed down to nothing."

"I still own plenty of sweaters, Newton. The only change is that now I have them tailored to fit me properly and I'm not losing weight at the rapid speed I was those last few years of the war."

"Mmm, oh yeah. You didn't eat a lot, and I ate my feelings, so I kinda gained a tummy while you were losing yours."

"I quite liked it," Hermann says, which makes Newt lift his head. "Erm, when you used to fall asleep on the couch, I often felt the temptation to join you and rest my head on your stomach."

"That is fucking _adorable_ , dude," Newt says. "You can do that whenever you want from now on. In fact, here-"

Newt tugs him down onto the bed, sliding back to rest against the pillows. He pats a hand against his stomach, and Hermann chuckles but acquiesces, resting his head there, curled against Newt's legs. It's certainly not as soft as Newt was before the Kaiju war, but softer and rounder than he remembers from the first time they made love, less than a month ago. Has he truly only been awake that long? It feels like a lifetime ago.

"Talk to me," Newt says, stroking a hand through Hermann's hair. "Tell me how you felt the last ten years."

"I told you before," Hermann says, "remember? Like I was living half a life."

"I wanna know more, dude. I've shared my damage with you, now I wanna know yours. You want a musical introduction or something? Here, how about, _l can be your hero baby, I can kiss away the paaaaain-_ "

Hermann smacks his hip. "If you're going to serenade me, please do so with something that isn't teeth-grindingly nauseating."

"Fine." Newt goes quiet for a while, then Hermann hears him start again, low and soft.

" _Lean on me,_ " Newt sings. "W _hen you're not strong. I'll be your friend, I'll help you carry on-_ "

It's only slightly less cheesy, but Hermann smiles and joins in. " _For, it won't be long, 'till I'm gonna need, somebody to lean on._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So clocking in at 140,200 words, the rough draft is finally complete :) I can now focus on getting drafts edited to send to my beta instead of the actual meat of the fic, which will hopefully mean faster updates!


	41. Set You Free: Chapter 21

Mingxia knocks on their door the next morning and holds out her hand.

"Liwen's tablet. Where is it?"

"Why?" Newt asks, rubbing the grit of sleep from his eyes. Hermann's in the shower and Newt is fifteen minutes behind and all the hot water will likely be gone now, but his mind kept him up half the night; insomnia wasn't a problem when the Precursors were in control, but sometimes he lies in the dark and the fear of dreaming outweighs his exhaustion. He hasn't had a pleasant dream since he's been freed of the hivemind's control, and he can't keep waking Hermann up for reality-validating midnight make out sessions.

"There's a call for you. I'm going to hotspot my phone to keep it off the PPDC intranet."

Newt lets her in, and then fetches the tablet from where it lies, precariously perched on the side table next to the bed, lying on top of his discarded pants, which seemed like a perfectly fine place to leave them last night after Hermann practically ripped them off his hips and tossed them without looking (the lack of decorum on Hermann's part is absolutely Newt's influence, as the pre-Drift Hermann would've taken the time to fold each article neatly and lie them on the chair, Newt's boner wilting away in the process). He hears the shower faucet twist as he does so, and the sound of the water stops as he hands the tablet to Mingxia. She pulls out her phone and starts fussing with both devices, shoving aside the rumpled bedsheets to sit down on the bed.

The door to the bathroom creaks open, and steam rushes out as Hermann's head pokes through the opening. "Good morning, Ms. Xié. Newton, I'm in need of a shirt."

"Then why didn't you bring one in with you?" Newt asks.

"I wasn't expecting company this early," Hermann replies, with a scowl that screams 'I-can-barely-get-naked-in-front-of-you-so-what-makes-you-think-I'll-do-it-in-front-of-this-woman-we've-known-for-two-weeks.'

"Jesus, Herms, you're such a prude," Newt says, but he's grinning as he digs through Hermann's dresser and tosses him a t-shirt.

Hermann gives him a very pointed, 'that's-not-what-you-seemed-to-think-when-I-was-bollocks-deep-in-your-arse-last-night' sort of look, and Newt swears he can actually hear Hermann thinking it, and maybe he can, but then Hermann's head disappears back into the bathroom and the door clicks shut. He'll have to explore that line of inquest later.

"Sit, Newt," Mingxia says, and Newt wonders when he went from 'Dr. Geiszler' to 'Newt' in the last two weeks. He hadn't even deployed his usual "only my mother" ice-breaker, because things were going kind of pear shaped there for a while, but she seems to have naturally learned his preference, and has also realized that only Hermann and his uncle are allowed to use his full name (or maybe Hermann clued her in, who knows).

Newt sits down next to her, careful to keep space between them, because he is hella rank and she is wearing a very nice pantsuit that she probably doesn't want rubbing up against his odorous boxers (then again, she's on their bed, but Hermann is still meticulous in that way where the sheets get sent to the laundry once a week, no matter how much sleep they've gotten or whatever other activities may or may not be happening on them). Hermann exits the bathroom, clad in the shirt and clean boxers. He's rubbing the towel through his hair, which sticks up like wild, untamed field grass and makes him look quite cute and is how it tends to look post-coital, which is only more the shame when he smooths it back down. He takes the chair beside the bed. That's another way in which he's a stickler, where he won't engage in physical contact in the morning after he's showered until Newt has had his own shower and matches his level of cleanliness. Newt is learning all sorts of new things about Hermann, which should be a shock twenty-two years down the damn road.

Well, circumstances change, Newt supposes.

Mingxia holds the tablet up between them, and opens up the SeeU app that Hermann had showed him a few days ago. She types a string of numbers that's much too long for a phone number or an IP address into the search bar, and when she presses the button, a match pops up. The ID reads NABOKOV. Next to the name reads KEY DEACTIVATES IN 7:58, and the numbers tick downwards.

"Nabokov?" Next says, frowning. "As in, the novelist?"

"A code name," Minxia replies. " We're a bit late, so be quick in what you ask. Sending another key will take time we don't have the luxury for."

Before he can respond, she taps the name, and the call goes through.

Newt is struck with the oddest feeling of deja vu when the call pops up and a blond, white woman's face appears on screen. She's somewhere in her early forties, if Newt had to guess, though the weariness on her face makes her seem older. Her blue eyes are focused, though, with a certainty that makes Newt believe she's got no trouble making hard calls and taking decisive actions. There's a small window behind her that lets in a muted grey morning light. _Somewhere in a nearby timezone, maybe part of Asia_ , Newt thinks, but the moment she opens her mouth and speaks, her likely location becomes obvious.

"Dr. Geiszler," she says in a Russian accent that hints just enough at a thickness that's been smoothed out over the years to make her fluency more appealing to English speakers. "Ms. Xié said you do not remember much. I wonder, do you remember me?"

And the voice is so familiar, that Newt feels his mind rummaging around itself, digging through the sock drawer of memories to find that one matching pair, and there it is, the one instance of her voice that he has access to because it was dragged out from the hivemind's control. A memory of a handshake and a _Welcome, Dr. Geiszler_.

"Katya," Newt says, and he winces at the snap of pain that lances through his skull as the words exit his mouth. The pain subsides much faster than last time, and suddenly he can think back to dozens of conversations that he had with Katya Petrov while working on the A.L.I.C.E. project, her engineering talents working to create the hardware that would run the software that Colin Sinclair, their main programmer wrote in collaboration with Fudvi and himself, their output guided by Ling Fei's knowledge of linguistic patterns that the Precursor language might follow.

Katya shows the slightest of smiles. "It is so good to see you again, Newt."

"Who is she?" Hermann asks, and only now does Newt realize that the other man is peeking over his shoulder at the screen, hygiene bubble be damned.

"She was on the A.L.I.C.E. project, Herms," Newt says. "Katya, this is Hermann Gottlieb."

"Ah, the famous Dr. Gottlieb," Katya says, her smile getting wide enough to actually become visible to the human eye. "I am thinking you were under selling his handsomeness, Newt."

"Oh my," Hermann says, and Newt would bet his ultra-rare copy of of _Twisted Tales from the Breach #1_ that Hermann's entire face has just gone crimson. "I, uh, I suppose I should say thank you? What were you telling her about me, Newton?"

"Oh, he was always speaking about you," Katya says before Newt can get a word in edgewise. "Very obvious to us all that you both had something he had not gotten over."

"Jesus H. Christ, can we not do this?" Newt moans, dropping his face to his hands. He throws back an elbow at the jackass snickering behind him, smirking in satisfaction at the yelping noise Hermann makes.

"We are short on time, Dr. Petrov," Mingxia says. "Any information you can provide us would be helpful."

"I am not sure of what I can tell you," Katya says. "You are already aware of what our project concerned. We were hoping to create a link to the hivemind that would allow us to receive controlled communications but not risk sending information back to them. If you need ask why, well, why did your country and mine keep a line of communication open during the Cold War? The benefits of contact, wherein your enemy might give away more than they realized, seemed to outweigh the risks. However,  a human drift like Dr. Geiszler's is an unsecured connection, and we would have no control over what information in that mind would be accessed. But an artificial intelligence can be programmed with select, specific outputs. Kept detached from the inter- or PPDC intra-net, there would be no risk of their accessing anything but what the AI hardware is programmed with."

"So who ordered the project, then?" Newt asks. "Who was writing our checks?"

"Dr. Chachar interviewed myself for the position," Katya says. "I would assume it was the same for everyone, though I cannot be sure. I know he reported to someone, but as the one in charge of the project, we reported to him. I admit to feeling annoyed that my superior was so much younger, I believe we all did, but Dr. Chachar was not the type to make us work and take the credit. He was so passionate about this project, he put his whole self into it. And he was so excited when you joined us. Do you remember?"

"His sister, she kinda insinuated that he had a major science boner for my work," Newt says, shrugging. "But... no. I don't remember." And he's realizing now that all of his memories of Katya include times where Colin is there, and Ling Fei is there... but no Fudvi.

"You and he were always together," Katya says. "Talking about your favorite Kaiju, bouncing theories off of each other, working later into the evenings than the rest of us."

"Really?" Hermann says, in a voice tinged with suspicion.

His expression must be a tell, because Katya shakes her head. "Do not be concerned, Dr. Gottlieb. Fudvi knew as well as the rest of us Newt's feelings towards you. I always believed that Fudvi saw in Newt who he wanted to become, and Newt saw in Fudvi a brilliance he could guide. He was the most brilliant of all of us, and we all knew it."

Newt doesn't remember any of this, and it just, it fucking _sucks_ , not only because these memories could be what saves his life, but because between Hadiyya and now Katya speaking of Fudvi, well, Newt could see himself being a mentor figure to a kid like that. His ego was a wide, brash thing back then, and of course he'd think he was smart and clever and _good_ enough to guide Fudvi to greatness.

Instead, he guided the kid to a broken mind and got himself possessed along the way.

"So, what happened, at the end of it?" Newt asks. He feels a hand on his shoulder, firm and steadying; Hermann must sense the change in his emotional state, must feel that through line of guilt creeping across the drift. There's a pushback against that guilt, a warmth and an ache to sooth Newt's vulnerabilities, and Newt lets the sensation settle into his bones.

 _No wonder Hadiyya loves studying the drift_ , Newt thinks, taking a deep breath. _It's like nothing the human mind has experienced before._

"That, I do not truly know," Katya continues. "We were told one morning that the project was being terminated, and were transferred to other facilities soon after."

"And when was this?" Hermann says from the back.

"Around September of 2027," Katya replies.

"It matches up with the timeline," Mingxia says. She's holding the tablet up with one hand, and typing into her phone on her lap, taking notes, her nails clicking on the screen glass. Newt holds out his hands, and she concedes the tablet to him, giving him a quick nod. "Have you kept up with anyone since the project?"

"I cannot say that I have," Katya says, shaking her head. "I have been working mostly out of Vladivostok since then. As for Dr. Chachar, I did not hear of his condition until Dr. Pitafi contacted me a few years ago. But now that I am thinking of it, it was quite odd."

"What was?" Newt asks.

Katya taps her index finger against her mouth, glancing down. "Well, the man who told us the project was terminated that morning was not Dr. Fudvi. I did not get this man's name either, in case you were wondering. In fact, the last time I saw Dr. Fudvi was the evening before, leaving the laboratory. I saw him at no point after the project, and I thought perhaps he had been reassigned more quickly than the rest of us, until I spoke with Dr. Pitafi."

"If you saw a picture of the man, would you recognize him?" Mingxia asks, her thumbs on the phone screen speeding up to a pace that shouldn't be possible.

"Perhaps," Katya says. "He had a face I can only describe as 'unmemorable.' I cannot even remember his hair color. I questioned his authority but received an email from Dr. Chachar shortly after confirming the project was over."

"Do you still have a copy of that email?" Mingxia asks. "Anything would help."

"If I do, I shall pass it along to Ranger Beckett," Katya says.

Ah, so that's how they found her. Raleigh came through after all. Newt is gonna give that man a big damn hug the next time he sees him.

"Katya, when was the last time we talked to each other?" Newt asks. He's got a suspicion he needs confirming.

"We did not speak after the project," she says, and her voice hints at the regret she feels from that. "Truthfully, I do not remember if you were there the morning it was over. I had hoped you would remain in contact through email, but you did not."

"What did we talk about?" he asks. "Other than Hermann, I mean, I realize that's like the first thing that probably comes to mind."

Katya actually chuckles, and her smile wipes away the years, and Newt remembers that smile from an evening with a bottle of the best Russian vodka available in the states, Katya and he slumped against one of the consoles, her laugh booming through the lab, and he remembers thinking, _you laugh like Sasha did, bold and loud and fearless,_ and remembers that grief bursting open like a fresh wound, her arms wrapped around him as he cried into her shoulder, not speaking of it the next day or ever again, except for the pat on the shoulder and the nod she gave him the next morning.

"We talked about many things, Newt," Katya says. "I miss our talks. I miss our team."

"Me too," Newt says, and he knows it's true, doesn't fucking know how, but there's an ache for these people he doesn't remember just like there's an ache for all the people in his life he's cared about and lost thanks to ( _my mistakes_ ) the Precursors.

"Time is almost up," Mingxia says, pointing to the countdown timer, which reads 00:15, 00:14, 00:13...

"Let's talk again soon, yeah?" Newt says.

Katya nods. "Yes. Let's. I am glad to see you and Dr. Gottlieb are together again. You will have to tell me how that happened next time. Goodbye for now, Newt."

"Bye, Kats," Newt says, the nickname rolling off his tongue, like it's familiar, like he's said it a hundred times before, to this woman his memory is slowly positioning and slotting back into her proper place in his head.

Katya's eyes widen, but before she replies, the timer hits 00:00 and the screen flicks off.

Mingxia rises from her seat, twisting to face them. "How are your memories, Newt?" she asks. Her thumbs are still poised over her phone, ready to take down anything important he might remember.

"They're still leading me to the same damn conclusion," Newt says. "Something happened with myself and Fudvi. Whatever it was, it got the project shut down while we weren't even present. But past that first memory, I still can't remember anything about him, or what happened to us." There's not even a false memory like there was before. It's just a void, a gaping hole in his memory, like it’s been surgically carved out of his mind.

"The trial is in two days, Newton," Hermann says, sliding forward to sit next to him on the bed. "You must try as hard as you can to remember... perhaps another drift?"

Newt sighs. "It'd be useless, Hermann. Before, I at least had distorted memories we could try and work through. But there's no memory to work through here, shit's either gone for good or buried so far deep that I don't think the drift is gonna find it. We could chase the R.A.B.B.I.T. for the next forty-eight hours and find diddly squat."

"Do you suppose, if you were to hear Dr. Chachar's voice as you did with Dr. Petrov, it could trigger something?" Hermann asks.

"That's a good idea," Mingxia says. "Dr. Pitafi might be able to connect us with him. Get showered and dressed, Newt. Meet me in her lab in half an hour."

Mingxia sweeps out of the room. Newt hops into the shower, and when he comes back, Hermann has made the bed and is lying on the duvet, towel still draped about his waist, arms pillowing under his head, eyes far above, practically staring through the roof into space. Newt's familiar with his expression, it's the one Hermann gets when he's got a particularly knotty conundrum but still refuses to concede defeat and run it past Newt for a consultation. Hermann used to fix him with the stare sometimes, saying "nothing" when Newt asked him "what's up?" Now he gets it, though. Newt was another sort of conundrum for Hermann, someone whom Hermann spent half the time wanting to beat to death with the Milking Machine and the other half wanting to pin him to the lab couch and kiss every inch of his body.

 _How the fuck did I not see that in our first drift?_ Newt thinks, tilting his head sideways, like a dog trying to understand human noises. _Dude is a master of emotional repression, Freud would have a field day._ Although, Hermann doesn't seem to have any trouble professing his feelings nowadays. Newt likes to believe it's his Newtonian influence of free-spirited emotional sensitivity, but there are two problems with that theory a) they were both pretty emotionally stunted back in the day (if you were to chart it on a bell curve named "Sensitive to the Feelings of Others," their z-scores would be at least two standard deviations into the negative range), and b) the Occam's razor explanation is that age plus almost losing the love of your life (Hermann's words, not his) plus being reunited after a decade equals being willing to acknowledge how you feel because you know tomorrow isn't guaranteed.

"Is your continued nudity a hint?" Newt asks, flopping on the bed next to him. "I'm not saying I don't like this version of you who's constantly horny for me all the time, but we did kind of promise to meet Mingxia."

Hermann snorts, flicking Newt in the forehead without even looking over, and Newt loves this new, easy connection of the drift-bond, wherein their awareness of one another extends to a sensitivity towards each other's proximal space.

"That's not the drift bond, you nincompoop, that's my peripheral vision," Hermann says unprompted, and okay, maybe he's right, but _that_ right there is definitely the drift bond. "And I'm not suggesting we engage in coitus, nor is my anatomy displaying indication of that desire, if you'll note."

Newt lifts the towel to take a peek, and grins when Hermann yanks it back down, scowling. "Oh, come on, dude, you basically asked me to!"

"I did no such thing. I haven't dressed because, well, I was thinking. And please don't make some pre-pubescent quip about that being 'so unusual.' It's such a tired retort, I expect better from you now."

"Herms, how am I supposed to lovingly berate and insult you if you know what I'm going to say before I say it? This is fucking unfair, I'm the quick witted smartass of this dynamic duo, stop taking my role."

"Newton, darling, love of my life, I've been inside your brain. Multiple times at this point, under very strenuous circumstances." Hermann twists over, draping an arm across Newt's stomach, pressing close, and that's definitely an erection against his hip (wohoo!), and Newt shivers when Hermann kisses the center of his sternum. "If you didn't want me to understand your mind at such an intimate level, you should've refused to let me drift with you the first time."

"You wouldn't have let me," Newt says, poking his forehead, shivering again when Hermann's mouth trails lower to press his lips right above Newt's belly button. "I would've been like, 'no, Hermann, I can't let you risk that brilliant mind of yours, I must make this sacrifice alone!' And you would've been like, 'Bloody crumpets, Newton, on my honor as a German and a wannabe Englishman, I shall not allow it!'"

Hermann snorts into his stomach, little trembles of laughter shaking through him. "Crumpets, Newton? _Crumpets?_ That's your idea of English obscenities?"

And then Newt is laughing too, cackling and giggling and biting his fist to muffle the sound, and it's been too long since he's done this, too long since he's traded easy, silly banter with his lab partner, and that's what he's missed the most. The sex is swell, and the love was always there (though the acknowledgement is hella nice after all this time), but he genuinely _likes_  Hermann, and has missed his friendship. You look past the tweed and the overly posh way of speaking and the stiff, logical exterior and you see a guy who can be sassy, smart-mouthed, willing to go toe-to-toe for what's right and who's so passionate about fucking _math_  and _numbers_  that he can make you get a little excited about them too.

"You're my best friend, you know that?" Newt says, laughter simmering down. "Like, nobody else ever came close. I'm so fucking lucky."

Hermann considers him, then slides up and kisses him, just a firm press of lips, before resting their foreheads together. "I don't think I ever had a friend before you, if I'm being honest. That's quite pathetic, isn't it?"

"Yeah, yeah it is," Newt says, chuckling. "You've got other friends now though, right?"

"Certainly," Hermann says. "Tendo, Raleigh, Jake and Hadiyya... and Mako. You showed me that cultivating that sort of relationship was a worthwhile endeavor."

"But I'm the only friend you wanna fuck, right?"

Hermann nods, smiling wide, eyelids drooping in a 'come-hither' sort of expression (and Newt still feels that erection (wohoo!)), and he presses a kiss to Newt's jaw, so sweetly that Newt wants to cry.

"Nothing else will ever compare to this, _mein Schatz_ ," Hermann murmurs, continuing his trail down Newt's jaw, then his neck, then his chest, beelining for the bit of Newt's anatomy that is rising to meet him. " _Nothing_  else."

They're late to the lab, made later by their need for a second shower. But it’s okay, because Hadiyya needs a few days to arrange a meeting with her brother, and Mingxia has nothing further, so they go back to their room, and just for a little while, help each other forget about what's on the horizon.


	42. Set You Free: Chapter 22

Newt has retied his tie about fifteen times, and Hermann finally snaps "give it here.” He does a perfect Windsor on the first try, because if nothing else, his father taught him the dress code he'd need for academic life, not a life spent crawling under computer consoles and Jaeger appendages leaking oil, and getting your lab partner's latest biological specimen spilled over your nice, new black loafers.

Newt's eyes dart everywhere around the room but Hermann's face while the knot is being affixed; his level of anxiety has reached where Hermann can feel it radiating off him like a space heater of self-doubt and self-preservation. Hermann doesn't exactly know how to comfort him here; he hasn't ever been in nor thought he'd be in a circumstance where he'd have to tell a loved one "don't worry too badly about your war crimes trial, darling, it shall be alright." Even in his head, that sounds pap and dismissive of the actual terrifying prospect ahead of them. 

Hermann's own anxiety is akin to a marathoner attempting to stay inside the eye of a hurricane as the edge of the storm creeps towards him, knowing that he can't truly outrun the inevitable. He spent the entirety of last night wrapped around Newt, and he's normally quite picky about having his own space when falling asleep, but he doesn't know what'll come of this hearing, whether the trial judges will decide to dismiss or move forward with the case. If they do move towards a trial, it’s also possible they'll decide that Newt needs more secure accommodation between the hearing and the trial, and have him imprisoned there, rip him away from Hermann. So, there was no real sleeping going on last night, and he is running on adrenaline alone today. 

Mingxia meets them on the landing platform, which is clear of anyone else save Agent Tanaka, Lambert, Jake, Illia, Tendo and Hadiyya. The latter three are coming with them, despite not needing to be there, as any testifying will be saved for a hypothetical trial. Illia is not a surprise, and Tendo is going for "moral support, you betcha, brother, don't even try talking me out of it." As for Hadiyya, well, it isn't said in so many words that her brother and Newt are so inexorably tied that a piece of Fudvi is stuck in Newt's head, and she has a vested interest in keeping him alive, because there's no need to say it. They all know it. Lambert and Jake are both damp with sweat from morning exercises, and they don't really need to be here either, but they are.

The platform is supposed to be cleared of anyone else for this transfer, but Hermann spies a few heads peeking out from behind a half-constructed Jaeger's foot and recognizes the wild brown mane of Namani and several other cadets, flashing salutes and thumbs up signs at him. Hermann's chest twists and goes soft, and he spares them a nod as the PPDC transport touches down in front of them.

Jake rests a hand on Hermann's shoulder, leaning in. "You alright, mate?"

"What do you think, Jake?" Hermann says.

"Yeah, that was a daft question. You'll be alright, though. I've gotta good feeling. You're mad fashionable today too. Did Dr. Geiszler pick out your threads?"

"Ah, that was Ms. Xié, actually." Mingxia had tossed a suit at his face when he'd opened the door this morning, and he doesn't know how she managed to figure out the perfect size (slimmer than his normal shirts and pants, but not so slim as to expose the jut of the belly he's gained in age) and cut (a nostalgic double-breasted affair straight from the mid 2010s; everything old is new again, twenty year fashion cycles, etcetera) and color (a deep forest green) for his body type, but he looks like a man ten years younger and far more versed in what's trendy and modern than he truly is. Mingxia said that Hermann wasn't about to look dumpy in front of the panel who were going to decide his partner's fate, and when he'd stepped out of the bathroom, the look of pure _want_  and _lust_  that Newt stared at him with helped soothe his nerves.

Mingxia had also picked out a suit for Newt: a simpler design ("don't want to look self-important or full of yourself," she'd said), a classic black jacket and slacks, an off-white dress shirt underneath (no bloody vest) and after some screeching on Newt's part, a (properly tied) skinny black tie. He's clean shaven ("it'll make you look younger, more vulnerable"), spectacles instead of contacts ("let's remind people of all those candids from when you closed the Breach"), and hair slicked with a bit of mousse to let it stand up in the imperfect, messy way it used to, the way Hermann had always wished he could run his hands through back before this mess.

Lambert steps in front of them, looking back and forth.

"I wish you both luck," he says.

His voice is steady, almost impassive, but his face is writ with concern, the dichotomy of a man who's been asked to lead and to think about the greater good, to understand that fighting for the world means sacrifices, but whose capacity for empathy makes every sacrifice weigh on his conscience. Hermann recognized it in Stacker many years ago, in Mako through every action she took, and now in Lambert.

If the worst comes to pass for Newt, Lambert will carry a weight, but he'll keep going, keep fighting, keep caring that the world goes on. Hermann felt that same gut-twisting duality watching Newt's chaos wreck through MegaTokyo, except if he were to have to choose between the world and Newt... Newt _is_  the world.

They're all quiet on the transport. The journey to The Hague takes several hours, but everyone seems to be lost in their own set of thoughts, except Mingxia, who is typing away at her laptop, ever diligent. Newt sits next to Hermann, clasping his hand the whole ride, eyes on the floor, not looking over. Hermann can't imagine what he's feeling, even if he gets snatches of it across the drift bond; the true magnitude of what's coming is terrifying, but Hermann isn't the one on trial, whose actions are viewed as the cause of thousands of deaths, the destruction of a major metropolis, and almost ending the entire world.

Hermann has been fighting the Kaiju and the Precursors his entire adult life. He had presumed as a child that his chosen field of mathematics would lead to a steady, stable career, lacking danger or terribly much excitement other than perhaps a few new discoveries about the laws of physics. And then a portal had opened in San Francisco, and a year later, an email arrived in his inbox, querying about his paper on the theoretical construction of said portal, signed off simply  _Newt_ , and Hermann's world had upended. In all likelihood, they would not have crossed paths had the Kaiju not come; Hermann would've had his equations, a cozy professorship, perhaps some colleagues and occasional dalliances. Newt would've had his reptiles and amphibians and wildlife expeditions, probably half a dozen failed garage rock bands and several dozen multi-gendered flings.

And yet, a paper was read, an email was sent, a correspondence began, and then, after one failed meeting (and neither of them will ever admit to causing its failure), they were forced back together. Their whole relationship is the byproduct of staving off the apocalypse, so is it any wonder that the relationship has always been mired in chaos?

Hermann fought Newt with order and rules and stringent rationalism, and a line down a cavernous laboratory. Newt replied with Iggy Pop and mid-day dance breaks, paper airplanes and obscene doodles on Hermann's blackboard, purposeful line crossing and ignoring every boundary that Hermann attempted to put between them. Newt is the personification of a coin flip, a person who by all logic should send Hermann running for the hills. And yet he stays, has stayed, will continue to stay. By embracing the chaos, Hermann has found the truth: they are two sides of an equation, one sprawling with parentheses and exponents and undivided improper fractions, the other precise and calculated to its cleanest, smallest possible variables. They may seem wildly discordant to the casual observer, but a keener eye can tell they are quite equal and fail to make sense without their opposite.

There's a weight bearing down on Hermann's shoulder. He glances to see Newt resting his head there, eyes closed, breathing even, looking for all the world like he's fallen asleep, but Hermann can still feel his mind whirring along in the background. Hermann drops his head to the side as well to rest his cheek against Newt's scalp, the scent of his own shampoo in Newt's hair a pleasant reminder of what their relationship has evolved into.

_I am here,_  Hermann pushes out into the drift bond, rushing out of him in the mental version of a relieved sigh. _I am here and I am staying._

Newt's hand clenches tighter around his. 

When the transport lands in Rotterdam, two men in security uniforms step into the passenger bay and speak to Tanaka. When they're done, Tanaka comes over to Newt.

"We're going to be moving very quickly, now," Tanaka says as they rise from their seats. "There's a convoy of vans waiting for us to deplane. They will take us to the ICC building. Dr. Geiszler, you and Dr. Gottlieb will be in the central van, your friends will be in the van behind you. Once you're in the van, do exactly as you're told. Don't try to open any doors or windows, stay in your seats. It is absolutely vital that you follow instructions, for your own safety. Understood?"

"Safety?" Newt says. "Safety from what?"

He has his answer when the convoy turns off the main motorway, onto slower traffic streets, and the sidewalks lined with hundreds of people come into view. Not just people. Protestors. Hundreds and hundreds of them, for blocks and blocks leading up to the court, yelling and holding signs that read _Murderer_  and _Maniac_  and _Justice for MegaTokyo_ , pictures of Newt's face with his eyes crossed out, photographs of smiling unknown faces with _Rest in Peace_  and _Killed by the Precursor Emissary,_  signs in dozens of other languages that probably say something similar to the English ones. Hundreds of angry, grieving souls looking for justice.

Hermann is dead silent, eyes on Newt, who stares out the window, frozen.

"Is... is that what they're calling me?" Newt asks, voice so low as to be barely audible. "The... Precursor Emissary?"

Hermann sways in front of Newt to block his vision and he cups Newt's face in both hands. "Look at me, Newton. Now, please."

Newt's gaze flicks from out the windows to Hermann's face, and he looks so utterly defeated, and he must have known something like this was going to happen, but there's a difference when it's right in front of your own two eyes.

"They don't know the truth," Hermann murmurs. "They don't know what happened."

"Don't they?" Newt asks. "It's the truth they've decided on. It's what everybody believes!" He's shaking under Hermann's hands, his breath speeding up in short gasps.

Hermann kisses him, and Newt yanks back, pushing Hermann away, and it hurts, cuts a knife right into Hermann's chest. "The fuck are you doing, Hermann?"

"I... I don't-"

"You can't just make me ignore it, you think I want to _ignore_  this, Hermann? I caused this-"

"You _did not_  bloody cause-"

"Let me feel how I feel, for fucking _once_ , just let me!" Newt yells at him. "Can I have that? Can I fucking be allowed? Even the goddamn Precursors didn't try to take that from me!"

"You are allowed to feel any bloody way you please, so long as it makes sense!" Hermann snaps back. "But it doesn't make sense for you to feel guilty, when you didn't-"

"YES, I DID!" Newt roars, as tears start streaming down his face. Hermann visibly cringes, leaning away, as Newt's voice breaks and he keeps screaming. "I DID! I'M RESPONSIBLE! THIS IS MY FAULT!"

Hermann watches in horror as Newt sags over and buries his face in his hands. They're frozen in the moment, the muffled yells of protestors and Newt's sobbing the only audible sounds.

After a time, Hermann reaches out, gently grasping Newt's shoulders and tugging him over, pressing him against Hermann's chest and holding him fast. Newt cries into his suit, shaking as he chokes on his tears, as if he's trying to expel the guilt as a poisonous bit of nausea. He'll probably have wet stains on his collar, and Mingxia won't be pleased, but Hermann couldn't damn well care. Because Newt needs him, so he is there.

"I'm sorry," Hermann says, stroking a hand up and down Newt's back.

"Why?" Newt asks, voice watery and hoarse. "Why should you be sorry for any of this?"

"I'm sorry you feel like this. I wish I could change it. I want to, Newton. I want to convince you, so badly, not to hate yourself. I want you to believe that you aren't responsible for all of this. I want to turn all this back to the start and keep them from hurting you, _mein Schatz_. I want so many things that I'm incapable of. I should've protected you- no, _bitte_ , if you are allowed to feel guilty for what you couldn't have anticipated, then so am I."

"It's not the same. I had- I made  _choices_ -"

"And so did I, Newton," Hermann says. "We both made choices, and they were the wrong ones. Now we live with them. But we still _live_. And we chose how to respond to our circumstances, no matter how awful. That’s a choice that can’t be taken from us.”

Newt lets out a watery laugh. "You've been reading Frankl."

"So, you noticed," Hermann says. "You draw your references from Japanese cartoons, I prefer Austrian-Jewish psychiatrists."

"Yeah, well, I have been going HAM on the psychology texts with jack shit to do otherwise," Newt replies. "I don't know if I've got the kind of fortitude through suffering that his philosophy requires, though."

"You spent years as a prisoner in your own body, and you still managed to survive," Hermann reminds him.

"I gave up," Newt says. "When I thought you were dead."

Hermann doesn’t have a good answer for that, really, but he tries anyway.

"Am I dead, Newton?"

"No."

"Then don't give up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK folks, we're getting into the thick of it now. Prepare yourselves >:3


	43. Set You Free: Chapter 23

Mingxia takes one look at Newt when he steps out of the car, sighs, and pulls a stick of concealer out of her bag.

"Hold still," she says. "Swollen eyes are not a good look for you, Newt."

The preliminary hearing is a blur. Newt keeps his eyes on the mahogany table in front of him as Mingxia launches into her opening argument, the gallery behind them crowded with reporters and various military officials. The only person he recognized upon walking in was Liwen, who regarded him with a cool, impassive look, but nodded when they locked eyes, and he's got no idea what that _means_ , until he remembers their conversation, and understands she's here for information gathering. Whatever part of him believed she might have ever given a shit about his fate is quickly reeducated.

Newt's party takes up the first row behind the defendant's side. Through the whole hearing, he can feel an ache for connection through the drift bond, can practically picture the way Hermann sits on the bench, fists clenched around the front edge, leaning forward, wanting to provide the sort of contact comfort he gives freely now.

But Newt doesn't reach back, physically or drift-wise. He can't do this anymore, this thing where he hides from the reality of what he's done by listening to Hermann's denials and protestations, because he wasn't there, was he? He wasn't there when Newt made the choice to engage a third drift with the Kaiju. Even if Newt can't remember that moment right now, he remembers enough. He can imagine the frustration he would've felt as the project continued to fail, as the months drew on, and his measures would've become riskier, more desperate.

He would've tried anything.

Except...

Except he remembers the moment after that first drift with Hermann, when he looked at his lab partner, seated across from him on the transport back to the Shatterdome, and thought, _you're the only one for me, you're the only one I trust in my head_.

He remembers reaching out across a drift bond newly burned into their neurons and still live wired, tentatively searching, seeking out a connection, and feeling Hermann reach back.

The prosecution presents their own evidence, which is pretty damn compelling and hard to dispute. Mingxia counters with the paltry information they have, mostly choosing to focus on Hadiyya's DEEG scans to verify that, yes, Newt had been fully possessed by the Precursor hivemind when he sent out the signal from the Shao Corporation that began the multiple Breach openings, and yes, it's likely that he was possessed throughout the entirety of the construction and preparation of the Precursor's plans. But they have no defense for how Newt became possessed in the first place, how all his DEEG scans after the first two drifts show no odd brainwaves, and therefore his possession could've only come about if he engaged in later drifts with the brain.

Information about the A.L.I.C.E. project is presented, but the prosecution claims that there is a scant amount available, no sign of how the project was commissioned, vague information on project details and procedures, and nothing they could find presented any evidence that something had gone wrong. Mingxia brings up Hadiyya's brother to counteract the claim that nothing had gone wrong, but the prosecution provides a signed medical chart that puts his mental degradation down to a stroke in September of 2027.

Newt hears a gasp behind him and glances back to see Hadiyya biting her lip, glaring across the aisle. She obviously doesn't believe the claim, and Newt believes her, believes she knows her brother and the entire field of neurology well enough to know that what's happened to him isn't an ordinary medical condition.

Mingxia was right; she is a fantastic lawyer, and she digs as many holes into the prosecution's case as possible. But in the end, it's not enough. The judges find that a trial is necessary to determine Newt's guilt or innocence, though he gets the sense that if they could, they'd just throw the book at him right here. The one bright spot is that they're letting him stay in the custody of the Hong Kong Shatterdome.

Newt sits still, eyes glued to the table, as the gallery files out, and the judges leave, and then it's just his party left in the room.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up. Mingxia looks implacable, just like always.

"We are going to win," she says. "I know that it seems impossible right now. I know you have no reason to believe it. But I told you when we met, I do not take impossible cases, and I have not lost a case in years."

"What do you know?" Newt asks. "What are you not telling me?"

"Keep looking," she replies. "We have four days until the trial begins. If we obtain what we need, I won't have to play my trump card."

"Ming," Newt says as their group stands to leave. "Why can't you just tell me what you know? What's so dangerous for me to hear?"

Mingxia doesn't say anything. She simply glances over, to where Hermann is standing, waiting for them, and then back to Newt, giving him a pointed look.

His stomach twists, his mouth goes dry. _No, no, oh god. Is it something to do with him...?_

"What-" he begins, but she shakes her head.

"Four days," Mingxia says. "Keep looking, Newt."

Newt watches the crowds through the tinted van windows as they leave. Hermann starts to say something about it, but Newt ignores him, and eventually, the other man gives up.

The transport ride back to the Shatterdome is just as quiet as the previous journey. Mingxia types on her laptop, Tendo and Illia converse in hushed tones, Hadiyya stares at the ceiling (Newt can guess her brother is on her mind), and Hermann sits beside him, hand interlocked in his own.

Newt's mind spins and spins, replaying the look Mingxia gave Hermann in the court room, trying to understand what she was saying. Is Hermann keeping something from him? No, fucking no, he can't start getting paranoid now, he's decided on who to put his trust in and Hermann is one of them. Maybe something Hermann is tied up in, then, that could have consequences if the truth were to out. But Hermann says he was working out of Nagasaki the entirety of the A.L.I.C.E. project and hadn't heard of it before Mingxia showed up with her documents, and Newt has no reason to believe otherwise.

When they get back to the base, Lambert and Pentecost are again there to greet them, neither of them looking pleased to hear the outcome of the hearing. Mingxia, Tendo and Hadiyya say their good nights, and Tanaka is replaced by Finch, who stands stonily silent as usual, always reminding Newt of a statue who just happens to have working eyes.

"Stay strong, Dr. Geiszler," Lambert says, nodding at him as he and Jake also depart.

"You gonna be alright, kiddos?" Illia says, looking between Newt and Hermann. Newt would normally feel something warm about his uncle calling Hermann a term of endearment, but right now his thoughts are preoccupied, and Hermann's presence feels like a warm blanket he's trying to crawl out from under.

"Hermann," Newt says. "I'm going to stay with my uncle for tonight."

"What?" Hermann says, eyes widening, mouth upturning into a frown. "Why the hell would you do so?"

"I need to think," Newt says. "And we're too connected, you’re gonna be a distraction, and, look, can you just let me have some space tonight?"

Hermann's expression is pained, and Newt hates it, but he can't give in. "I just don't understand, Newton. Are you angry with me?"

Newt sighs and shakes his head. "No, just, I need room to think, okay?"

He doesn't say what he should, which is _I think I've been using you to hide from the truth, and maybe if I get away for a while, I'll acknowledge things._

Hermann draws a hand down his face, and nods. "Alright. I'm here if you need me."

Then he trods away, and Newt watches him go, fights the urge to call out or spring after him. He needs to do this. He needs to bring back that feeling of loneliness he carried after they split apart ten years ago, needs to put himself back in that mindset. Maybe then he'll remember how this all began.

Illia, Newt and Finch walk back to Illia's room, and Finch posts up outside the door while Illia and Newt go inside.

There's a brown box sitting on the coffee table, a mailing tag addressed to Illia slapped on the top.

"What's that?" Newt asks, sitting on the couch.

"Hold on, let me open it," Illia says. He goes into his bedroom, coming back with a pair of scissors, and cuts open the box. A bundle of papers is inside.

"You prepping your will or something, old man?" Newt asks.

"No, look, Newt," Illia says, grinning and holding up the bundle. "Remember I said I'd ask the woman watching my house to send all those letters you used to write me? Looks like she came through."

"Oh, shit!" Newt says, taking the papers from him. "I completely forgot about that! You said that most of these are from before the A.L.I.C.E. project, right?"

"As far as I can tell," Illia replies. "Maybe there's something useful in there for you."

Newt starts to read them as Illia calls to order them dinner. He goes through a lot of history he remembers clearly, grins at the first letter post-Triple Event where he's ecstatic and recounting the drift, Hermann's name in almost every sentence, singing his praises.

 _I was so obvious,_ Newt thinks. _No wonder Illia trusted him before they'd even met._

The letters go on, happiness bowing into depression after his separation from Hermann, until he finds one mentioning a project he's working on, and he can't say much, but it's very exciting, and in an odd twist of fate, he'll be working with-

"Oh god," Newt says, freezing. "Oh my god."

"Newt?" Illia asks, putting the phone down.

"Uncle," Newt says, clutching the letter. "Go get Hermann. Right now. Fuck, right _now_."

"I can't just call him?" Illia asks.

"No, he doesn't have a phone line in his bunk, usually it's only guest rooms. And I don't know his cell number." Why would he need to? He isn't allowed a phone of his own, and it's twenty-goddamn-thirty-five, nobody memorizes numbers anymore! "Look, please, just get him. I'll be right here, but I need to talk to him, and I'd rather it be in person. I’m gonna go through this more thoroughly while you get him.”

 _He's not going to like this_ , Newt thinks. _Not at all._

Illia sighs and nods. "Okay. I'll be back in five minutes, tops."

He steps out, and for the first time since he's woken up, Newt is completely alone. He'd be enjoying the solitude if not for what he's just read.

He stands up, reading the letter over and over, pacing the room, and when the door slides open again, he doesn't look up, just starts talking.

"Okay, look, you're not going to believe this, but-"

A firm, heavy hand grips his shoulder. Newt cries out as something sharp plunges into his neck, and then another hand is slapped over his mouth, and an arm is wrapped around his waist, holding him steady as he thrashes and struggles. The body behind him is strong, unyielding, and Newt can fight with the best of them, but not when he’s taken by surprise, not when whatever is flooding through his veins starts to make the world fuzzy, everything fading out.

The paper falls from his hand, he feels his legs give out beneath him. As the darkness closes in, he pushes everything he can out in a desperate burst across the drift bond.

_HELP._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the cliffhanger... >:D


	44. Set You Free: Chapter 24

Across the distance of the living quarters, Hermann feels the needle in his own neck.

The pain plunges like a knife through his clavicle, and his grip fails, his cane thumping on the carpet as Hermann falls to his hands and knees, gasping as Newt's scream echoes in his head.

_NEWTON!_  Hermann yells back, reaching out, sensing for him, but the sharp rush from a moment ago has faded to near nothing.

There's someone pounding on his door insistently. Hermann struggles to his feet, grabbing his cane and pushing off as he lunges for the button to open the door, finding Illia standing on the other side.

Illia looks at him and goes pale.

"Fuck," Illia says. "He told me to come get you, said he had something to show-"

"He's been attacked!" Hermann yells, stumbling out of his room. Illia grabs him by the shoulder, hauling him back up, still unsteady on his feet as his body processes the receding pain. "Back to your room, now!"

They move as fast as Hermann's leg will allow, Illia’s arm under his shoulder to help haul him along. He remembers a different Geiszler hauling him through the halls of this very Shatterdome ten years ago, trying to stop a failed plan before it was too late. Now Illia and he move in a rapid gait, trying to reach Newt before it's too late.

There's no one by the door when they arrive, already a bad sign. They open it to find papers scattered over the floor, and the coffee table upturned, no sign of Newt anywhere.

"No, no, no!" Hermann yells, slamming his fist into the doorframe. "What was he going to show me, Illia?"

"I don't know, Hermann!" Illia says, looking more scared than Hermann has ever seen him, even when he'd first laid eyes on his nephew's prone form in the holding chair. "He just said to go get you!"

"Oy!" A voice cries out. "What's going on?"

Hermann and Ilia turn to see Jake and Reyes jogging towards them, in a near perfectly matched rhythm, like a dynamic duo coming to the rescue. Or at least, that is how they appear in Hermann’s greatest hour of need.

"We were about to go to dinner," Reyes says. "Where's Dr. Geiszler?"

"He's gone!" Hermann yelps, trying to breathe, trying to keep the panic in his body from overwhelming him. "Someone- I felt someone  _hurt_  him, and he called for help, and now- oh god..." His worst fear has been realized. Newt is _gone_ and Hermann doesn’t know how to find him, doesn’t know who took him, doesn’t know how to go about getting him back.

"We can check the security tapes," Jake says, yanking a radio out of his belt. "See if he shows up on any of them. He can’t have just been snatched without someone seeing it."

"There's no time!" Hermann says. "Whoever took him isn’t going to wait around for us to run back the tapes and conduct an investigation, Jake. If we don't do something  _right now_ , they’ll be long gone, and we’ll never find them!"

"Well we can put out a notice to the base, have everyone on alert to look for him," Reyes suggests, always willing to offer a sensible suggestion, except nothing about this situation makes sense.

"And let whomever took him know that the entire base is on the lookout?” Hermann shakes his head.  “Are you mad? They'll dispatch him immediately and-"

"How do you know they haven't already, Hermann," Jake interrupts, giving him a level look. Hermann freezes, his mind scrambling for an answer, until he remembers that he already has one.

"I can  _feel_  him," Hermann snaps, pointing to his head. "He's still breathing, his consciousness is still connected to my own. If- if he was deceased, I would no longer feel that." It’s some small measure of hope, but he’ll cling tightly to it.

"Then that's how you find him," Illia says. "Track your connection."

"Yes," Hermann gasps, "yes, you're absolutely right, Illia! The closer we are in proximity, the stronger the bond is. If I sense for the bond while we’re in motion, I'll know if we're moving towards or away from him! But we must hurry!" He can feel the link getting weaker by the moment.

Jake and Reyes look at one another. Something passes between them, an agreement, not spoken in words but echoing loud in the silence of the moment. Like they’ve run this exact scenario as a hypothetical and are enacting the plan they’ve put into place. Impossible, how could they know? And yet, he trusts them inherently to know how to help him. They haven’t let him down yet.

"Mr. Geiszler, can you find Nathan- Ranger Lambert?" Reyes asks. "Let him know what's going on. He’ll know how to respond. I hope. Dr. Gottlieb, come with us, please."

Illia nods at her, and then looks to Hermann, gripping his shoulder with a steady hand.

"You saved him once, Hermann," Illia says. "You can do it again. Now go."

As Illia jogs off, Hermann follows Jake and Reyes down the hall. They’re muttering to each other, and they seem to have a direction in mind, even though Hermann can feel Newt’s connection getting weaker, and weaker…

"What are we doing?" he asks, catching up to them as they slow to accommodate his speed.

"If I wanted to kidnap someone, I'd get 'em off this base as fast as possible," Jake explains. "There's too much security 'round here to stash someone safely. If I had to guess, they'd try to get him into Hong Kong proper. Plenty o' districts where you can hide out."

"So, we're requisitioning a jeep," Reyes says as they step into the elevator. "Let us do the talking and just nod along."

"Requi- we're going to steal it!" Hermann yelps, a bit giddy at the prospect, because he knows that any vehicle usage has to be for a legitimate reason. You can't just take a bloody automobile out of the base garage willy-nilly!

"Are ya about to express concern about us breaking some rules right now, mate?" Jake asks. “Any objections you’d like to voice?”

"Of course not," Hermann says, scowling. "Let's steal the bloody thing and get my partner back!"

Jake makes up some story to the vehicle requisition staff about an emergency trip Hermann is making. While this isn't entirely untrue, it certainly has nothing to do with his needing to repair the coding on secret anti-Breach technology that protects the city, as if there is such a thing. Luckily, they pick out the most wide-eyed in the bunch of staffers who looks liable to believe anything that comes out of Jake’s mouth, and soon they're speeding out of the garage, turning onto the streets of Hong Kong.

The skies above them crackle with thunder as the rain begins to pound down onto the roof of their vehicle. Reyes drives like a woman who spent her youth street racing, and Jake grips the door and yelps at her to slow it down, but she doesn't, and Hermann loves her a little for that. She takes tight corners, weaving through the evening traffic, engine roaring, a clarion call of frenetic forward momentum. The tires squeal, and so does Jake, but Reyes motors them on.

Herman sits in the back seat, strapped in tight, or he’d be flying back and forth across the length of the vehicle. He keeps his eyes closed, reaching out for Newt, trying to sense the connection. The changes are so subtle, so minute, but he knows Jake's guess was right when they drive deeper into the city and the link feels stronger. He tells Reyes which turns to take, cursing himself when the link fades, but biting back a shout when the signal grows.

_I'm coming, Newton_ , he shouts, straining to project that internal voice and not knowing whether it works, but praying Newt can hear him. He hears and feels no response.

Hermann opens his eyes at one point to see a massive Kaiju skull on his right as they speed by. He recognizes it almost instantly, the sight of it taking him back to 2025. Otachi. It's Otachi's skull, still there, never removed, ten years of architecture built up around it.

_Boneslums_ , he thinks.  _Chau's old territory. A perfect place to stash someone._  There are plenty of old, abandoned buildings in the slums, places where your average citizen doesn’t venture anymore, used by the local gangs as neutral territory, to conduct business or hash out rivalries.

The streets dissolve from cracked concrete into mud as they press forward. This part of the district was abandoned by the city government to rot away long ago, and many structures are burned out or crumbling apart. But people still live here. Still call it home. People survive in the most dreadful of circumstances.

There are few vehicles that pass through this area, so when Jake shouts and points out a set of muddy tire tracks turning into an alleyway, they follow it. Hermann can feel them getting closer.

_Hold on_ , he sends,  _Hold on, darling. Almost there. We've almost found you._

They slow to a crawl outside a large warehouse, windows shattered in, tire tracks leading into the open doors of the building, the only sign that anyone has been in the area recently, since in half an hour these tracks will be washed away in the storm. Reyes stops the jeep a few dozen yards away and shuts the engine.

"Hopefully the rain hid the noise of us approaching," Reyes says, turning back to look at him. "Is he here?"

"I don't know, but he's so close... he must be," Hermann replies.

"We don't know who took him, or how many of them there are," Jake replies. "Backup isn't coming, mates. We need a plan."

Hermann glances between them, calculating the most logical way to search the area. Speed is of the essence, he senses. They’ve no time for a careful, controlled search pattern.

"Jake, there's a stairwell leading up to the second level," Hermann says, motioning to the rickety metal staircase on the outside of the building. "See if he’s been brought up there. Ranger Reyes- may I call you Juliet? Yes, thank you. There could be fellows patrolling the perimeter, so you should check the outside before heading in."

"What about you?" Juliet says.

"I'll go in on the ground floor," Hermann says, nodding. “Either way, one of us will likely find Newton.”

"You're defenseless, Hermann!" Jake says. "What're you gonna do, whap 'em with your cane?"

"No," Juliet says. "There's always a service pistol and bullets in the emergency kit of these jeeps. I'll load it for you. You know how to shoot?"

"Absolutely not," Hermann says, "but they won't know that."

Juliet finds the gun for him, and Hermann turns it over in his hand, ducked under the back door of the jeep. He's never held one of these things in his life, but he remembers the stance Ms. Shao took when she found him and Newt in the control center. He thinks he might be able to imitate that.

"If you find him, get him out of here," Hermann says. He fixes them both with a resolved expression, trying to impress upon them the necessity of listening to him. "If I can't get back out by the time you get him to this vehicle-"

"We're not leaving without you, Hermann," Jake snaps, looking angry that he'd suggested it. "We're all going back, together, with Dr. Geiszler as well."

Juliet has her own service pistol, and she nods along with Jake as she checks the safety, holsters it, and then shuts the jeep door. "If you believe I'm letting the finest mathematician of this century martyr himself like a dumbass action hero, you've got another thing coming, Hermann," she says, smirking at him. "We don't leave anyone behind."

“I am not-“

"Jog off, mate,” Jake says. “Listen to the lady. We'll meet back here in ten minutes if we can't find him. Now _go_."

Hermann approaches the large, sliding doors of the warehouse. One of them is half off its hinges, rusted away after years of abandonment. Hermann pushes his hair back out of his eyes, the rain already soaking through his suit, mud covering his new shoes and the bottom of his cane as he moves forward as quietly as he can. He grips the gun and holds it in front of him, pretending he'll know how to use it. Can't be terribly hard... just point and fire. Right?

He peeks around the door, and, spotting no guards, decides to chance entry here. There's a rusting stack of storage containers when he first walks through, blocking his view beyond them. But above them, he sees a glow of a light, farther into the warehouse.

_I'm coming_ , Hermann thinks, striding forward.  _Hold on, Newton._


	45. Set You Free: Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Putting a content warning at the beginning because this chapter includes GRAPHIC VIOLENCE. I'll put more details in the end notes for those who need them. You have been warned.

Newt comes to in pure darkness. He groans and sucks in a breath, but there's something shoved between his teeth, gagging his mouth, and the air feels warm and stale when he breathes in. He can’t spit out the gag, and when he tries to lift his hands to tug it out, his arms don't move, and he realizes his wrists are bound behind his back, tied off to a solid object. Trying to move his legs results in the same problem; they're bound to whatever he's seated on. He squirms and struggles, but he can't break free.

 _They knocked me out_ , Newt thinks as his last moments of consciousness come roaring back into his memory.  _Fuck, fuck, where the fuck am I?_

He hears footsteps and feels a yank as whatever is covering his head is torn off, and he squints into the light of a solitary bulb hanging above his head.

Agent Finch stands over him.

Newt yells into the gag, glaring daggers at him and struggling against his bindings.

"You're wasting energy," Finch says, lifting a hand. There's a glint of light against the blade of the knife he holds, twirling between his fingers as he continues to stare at Newt.

Newt sinks back into the chair he's been tied to, panting and continuing to glare at Finch.  _Oh, of fucking course the quiet dude I barely pay attention to is the one who wants me dead. Of course._

"Good, glad that you've decided to calm down," Finch says. "I'm sure this is all very confusing. I bet you have a lot of questions. I suppose I'd like to also see what you've figured out. Let's chat."

He leans forward, and Newt keeps oh so still as the knife goes behind his head, but Finch simply cuts the knotted cloth and pulls it out of Newt's mouth. Newt coughs and gasps for breath.

"What- what the fuck?" Newt says. "Who the fuck even _are_ you, dude?"

"Who do you think I am, Dr. Geiszler?" Finch asks.

"I don't know. Some sociopath who got hired to be a PPDC enforcer and went off the deep end? An obsessive fan of mine a la  _Misery_? Oh, fuck, you're not another dude who the Precursors possessed, are you? Did someone find a different Kaiju brain to drift with?"

Finch shakes his head. "All incorrect answers. It's kind of a shame, really. We were worried you were closer to figuring it out than you are. If I'd known, I might not have bothered with this. He won't be happy."

"Who?" Newt asks. "Who is putting you up to this?"

"You don't even know that?" Finch asks, sighing. "Your little Scooby gang aren't very good detectives, are you?"

"I don't even know what the fuck you want, dude!" Newt snaps. "Why did you kidnap me?"

Finch smiles. There's no light behind it, no joy, just the smile of someone who's learned how to fake one to fit in. Newt shivers. His sociopath comment might not be far off after all.

"You are a problem," Finch says. "A wrench in a plan that's almost come to fruition. We assumed at first that you would never come back to yourself, but then your Dr. Gottlieb had to go and 'fix' you, and Dr. Pitafi's reports were so interesting, how your memories were slowly returning. Oh, she doesn't know we read them, don't worry. She's very loyal to those she cares about. Shame about her brother, really."

"What do you know about Fudvi?" Newt says. "What did you do to him?"

"We did nothing," Finch replies. "It's more what you drove him to, Dr. Geiszler."

Newt stares at him. "What are you talking about?"

" _Poor Dr. Chachar_ ," Finch says in a mocking tone. "Such a bright mind. All his professors and colleagues were amazed with his capabilities, his fascination with Kaiju neurology. 'The Next Newton Geiszler,' they called him. He ate that up, so when he got to  _work_  with you, that was a dream come true. But like everybody who works with you, the fantasy didn't match up to the reality, did it?"

"I don't know," Newt says. "I told you, I don't remember."

"The A.L.I.C.E. project was his to succeed or fail on, Dr. Geiszler. You have your reputation and your accolades. This was Dr. Chachar's chance to make a name for himself. Except you weren't as helpful as he needed, and you were cautious when he wanted to take risks. Ironic, isn't it? The Admiral thought so."

"The Admiral-" Oh. Oh, fucking shitting  _Christ_  of  _course_. Admiral Jefferson, the US councilor. The guy who assigned Finch to watch Newt. A project this secret, this valuable, would’ve only been authorized by one of the councilors. So, he’s the one who’d have something to lose if it failed badly.

Finch smiles wider. "Finally, you're starting to understand."

"So, he put you up to this?" Newt asks. "Told you to take me out so I wouldn’t go spilling the beans on his connection to the project?"

"Ah, we're still talking about what you did to Dr. Chachar, aren't we?"

"I didn't do anything!" Newt yells.

"Are you sure?" Finch asks.

"No," Newt says. "But you're not telling me anything concrete, and frankly, I'd be a fucking idiot to believe half of what you're saying. What happened to Fudvi? How did I get possessed? Can you at least tell me any of those things, or do you just kiss your boss’s ass and do what you’re told?" Maybe it’s not smart to agitate the guy who’s got a knife, but Newt is utterly _done_ , he cannot even with this shit.

"You're a chatty man. I really hate that," Finch says, gripping Newt's chin with steel fingers that Newt can’t yank away from. "I think I'll get started on what we came here for, and you can listen while I work."

"Let go of me, you fucking fascist lackey!" Newt says, squirming as Finch leans into his space, far too close for comfort, far too intimate. Finch's thumb and forefinger dig into Newt's jaw, levering it open, as he reaches into the pocket of his suit jacket. The knife is tucked in, and Finch pulls out a long thin tool that has the levers of a pair of scissors, but the ends are hooped and clamp together.

"To answer your second question," Finch says, "You were possessed when you drifted with that brain you love so much." He pushes the end of the tool into Newt's mouth, and Newt jerks and tries to pull away, but there’s no room, and in a moment his tongue is firmly clamped between the two hooped ends of the tool. "We didn't realize it at the time. Frankly, we didn't put two and two together until you tried to destroy the planet." Finch drags Newt’s tongue out between his teeth, letting go of his jaw, the hooped clamps keeping Newt from pulling his tongue back in. "I've already answered your first question as much as I'd like to. Anyway, you've become a liability. We really can't afford to keep you around anymore."

Finch takes the knife back out from his pocket, and Newt lets out a low, terrified groan.

"I think you're seeing what's about to happen," Finch says, yanking harder on his tongue, drawing a bit more out. "They're going to find you here, throat slit, tongue removed, and they're going to assume you tried to run but got caught. Maybe an angry mob looking for justice. Maybe one of the unsavory elements of this district that you pissed off in the past. It really doesn't matter. I will, of course, have chased you, but alas, was too late to stop anything."

Finch rests the knife against the edge of Newt's tongue, and he stills, breathing in a pant, eyes wide and higher faculties shut down, because he doesn't know what to do, oh god he's going to die, he's going to die and Hermann is going to think he ran, going to think Newt left him alone again, it can't end like this, it can't, it can't!

"Any last- oh, well, I suppose you couldn't say them, even if you did," Finch says. "Well, let's get-"

"That is  _enough_!"

Newt nearly cries then with relief, as Herman's voice booms through the warehouse, echoing like the foghorn of a rescue vessel chugging towards a sinking ship. Finch pauses, sighs, and glances over his shoulder. The hoop clamps release, and Newt yanks his tongue back into his mouth, gasping and straining to see around Finch.

Hermann stands at the edge of the light, clothes soaked through and skin glistening with rainwater, eyes filled with fury, teeth clenched, hair sticking up from where he's pushed it back. He holds a gun clutched in his good hand, aimed squarely at Finch's back.

"Get away from him.  _Now!_ " Hermann snaps. "Do _not_ test me, Finch."

"Fine," Finch says, and he slides sideways, but quickly twists around to stand behind Newt's chair. Newt feels the press of the blade against his throat, and he chokes back a swallow, freezing.

"Put it down," Hermann says. His voice doesn't waver, but the hand holding the gun shakes ever slightly. "You have brought a knife to a gun fight, as the turn of phrase goes."

"No, I don't think so," Finch replies. "Frankly, I don't think you've got the skill to aim that thing properly. You're as liable to shoot your boyfriend as you are me. And if you miss, his throat will be slit before you get off a second shot."

"Then we are at an impasse," Hermann replies. "If you harm him in any way, I will unload every bullet in this gun  _into your skull_." The conviction with which he says it sends a shiver down Newt's spine.

"Jesus, Hermann," Newt stutters. "Can I be terrified for my life and also aroused at the same time? Is that a thing? I swear I don't have a gun kink, I just find you really hot when you refuse to back down."

"Shut it, Geiszler," Finch growls. "I don't understand how Gottlieb puts up with you, honestly. You're a teenage boy in an adult man's body who cries like a weak bitch anytime you feel the slightest bit guilty for what you've done."

"Hey, go fuck yourself, and your toxic masculinity," Newt snaps, hissing as the knife presses harder against his throat, but he keeps talking. "Seriously, go see a therapist, dude. Bet there's a whole lot bottled up you could get out."

Hermann takes a step forward, and Finch presses the knife hard enough to draw a thin cut across Newt's throat, a line of blood trailing down and staining the edge of his collar. Seeing this, Hermann stops moving, cursing under his breath.

"What will it take for you to lower the damned knife?" Hermann asks. "Surely you value your own life?"

"I don't plan on dying today, no," Finch replies. "But I've been given a job, and I plan on seeing it through."

"How can I convince you not to?" Hermann asks.

"You can start by lowering the gun," Finch says.

"Only if you lower the knife," Hermann counters.

They both look at one another, and then Newt feels the knife pull away, very slowly, and he lets out a whooshing breath that he hadn't realized he was holding. Hermann's arm lowers as well, until they both hold their weapons at their sides.

"So, convince me," Finch says. "You planning on offering me money? Think you'll get me to turn on my boss?"

"I’m not that foolish," Hermann says. "I would appeal to your basic sense of morality if I believe you had any, but I have another scenario in mind."

"Oh, yeah? I'll bite. Lay it on me."

"I caught most of the conversation you had with my partner, and it seems the Admiral is concerned as to Newton revealing something that could reflect rather badly on him, is that right?" Hermann asks.

“That’s a fair summation,” Finch says.

"Well," Hermann says, "in exchange for leaving us be, we will go."

"Go?" Finch asks.

"Away," Hermann says, nodding. "We will disappear. I have a feeling you have contacts that could book us passage to somewhere far from here, where we would be quite safe from the PPDC finding us."

"Hermann, you want to  _run_?" Newt says, gaping at him. "Are you serious? After everything, we're just gonna give up and leave?"

"We’ll go _together_ , Newton," Hermann replies. Newt can sense him, cajoling, pleading for Newt to go along with this. "I won't leave you alone again, I promise. Never again."

"But what about- about your career, and the PPDC, and the Kaiju and the Precursors, the Breach could open again, what if we're not there to stop it? We'd be wanted criminals for the rest of our lives, Hermann!"

"All I care about is you!" Hermann snaps. "Don't you understand it by now? Nothing matters if you're not there to share it with me!"

"I think I've heard enough," Finch says, silencing them both. "Your offer is compelling, Dr. Gottlieb. It would be beneficial to both yourselves and the interested parties on my side. You would both retain your lives and freedoms, and we would be rid of the pesky little detail of your sinking the Admiral's prospects."

"Well?" Hermann asks. "Are we in agreement?"

Finch steps out from behind Newt's chair. He thrusts the knife into his pocket and holds out his hand.

"Hermann, don't-" Newt starts.

"I'm sorry,  _mein Schatz._  I can't lose you again," Hermann says. Newt sees him shift his weight to his good leg, leaning his cane against his hip, and holding his hand out to Finch.

And that's when Finch throws the tongue clamp he still holds in his other hand at Hermann's face.

Hermann lets out a confused yelp and stumbles out of the way, grabbing his cane handle at the last moment to keep himself from tumbling over. He tries to raise the gun, but Finch is already moving forward, fast as a short-distance sprinter, slamming into Hermann. Newt sees Finch pull the knife out, screams as it flashes and buries itself in Hermann's arm. Hermann cries out, the gun dropping from his hand, as Finch shoves him to the ground and snatches the pistol before he can grab it back.

"STOP IT!" Newt screams, straining forward with everything he has, the rope around his wrists cutting into his flesh. "LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

"Be quiet, Geiszler," Finch huffs, kicking Hermann in the side. Hermann gasps and curls in on himself, gripping his arm above the blade, and Newt feels the lancing pain of the knife in his mind, feels the shock and the devastated realization shared between them that Hermann has lost. "Now then," Finch continues. "I need that back."

He grabs the handle of the knife and yanks it out of Hermann’s arm. Hermann screams again and Newt screams with him, whether because he feels that pain or because everything is over, everything is lost, everything they've done has been worthless... he doesn't know why he screams, but he does until his voice is hoarse and dissolves into broken, quiet sobs.

" _Please_ ," Hermann gasps, struggling to sit up and pressing a hand to the wound that now bleeds freely. "Please don't do this."

"This is nothing personal, Dr. Gottlieb," Finch says. "Just the job I was meant to do." He cocks the gun, smirking. "You wouldn't have even shot anything, had you pressed the trigger. Good try though. I admire your bluff."

" _Hermann_ ," Newt sobs, straining and struggling, all in vain. "I love you, I love you, f-fuck! You shouldn't have come, you should've stayed safe..."

"Anything you wanna say to him before you go?" Finch asks, pointing the gun down at Hermann's face. "Something to comfort him for the next three minutes or so that he'll be alive?"

Newt meets Hermann's eyes across the distance. There's no more hope in his look, just a resolute acceptance of inevitability.

The time has come. Their story is over.

This is the end.

" _H-Hermann_ ," Newt says, letting out a hiccup. "Fuck, I... I love you so much, dude. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. No comparison. I just wish I'd realized it before it was too late."

"Newton. _Mein Schatz_ ," Hermann responds. "It was all worth it. I'd do it all again. Thank you, for everything, love."

Then Hermann closes his eyes.

A gunshot rings through the warehouse.

And then a scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Torture, Characters in Peril of Death, Threatened removal of body parts, Stabbing
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> (it's not over. Come back Saturday)


	46. Set You Free: Chapter 26

Hermann Gottlieb is not dead.

He is not dead.

There was a gun, and it fired, and yet he lives.

He feels something wet, splattered across his face, and opens his eyes.

Finch. Finch is screaming, clutching his arm, and he is screaming because there is a hole through his arm. There is a gun in Hermann's lap, and a hole in Finch's arm, and the wetness Hermann feels is the spray of blood that occurred when Finch was shot.

Finch is standing over him, and screaming, and suddenly he is not, because something - no,  _someone -_  has slammed into his side, throwing him to the ground, pinning him to the floor.

Juliet kneels on Finch's back, twisting his arms behind his back. She's got murder in her eyes, and particles, black specks on her hands.  _Gunshot residue_ , Hermann thinks faintly.

"Oy, you still breathin' over there, Hermann?" Jake is sprinting across the breadth of the warehouse, coming to kneel next to him. "Oh, shit. Jules, he's hurt."

"I kinda knew that, Jake!" Juliet fires back. "Saw him get stabbed, just like you did. Now get me some damn rope!"

"Newton?" Hermann asks, and Jake grins.

"Good idea," Jake says, though Hermann doesn't know what he's suggested. "Hold on. You stay put, Doc, okay?"

"I wasn't planning on going anywhere," Herman quips as Jake snatches the knife from where it's fallen, gets up and jogs over to Newt, who has gone still in the chair he's bound to, staring at Hermann like he's seen a ghost.

"You, you're-" Newt stammers as Jake works on cutting through the ropes binding him. " _Hermann_."

"I- yes, that's who I am, Newton," Hermann replies, watching Jake saw through the ropes around Newt's ankles.

When he's finally freed, Newt springs up from the chair and stumbles over to him, joints likely still sore from being held in uncomfortable positions for so long. Newt drops down in front of Hermann, grabs him by the lapels of his ruined suit coat, and pulls him into a kiss, harsh and desperate and full of relief, or perhaps that's the sensation he's getting across the drift bond. No matter. Hermann clings just as fiercely to him with his good arm, his bad arm hanging loosely at his side.

"How did you even find me?" Newt asks when they come apart. "Was Finch's trail that sloppy?"

Hermann points to his head. "Sensed you," he says. Newt breaks out into a grin, and Hermann can't help but grin back.

"Let me see your arm," Newt says. He helps Hermann to slip the suit jacket off, careful not to agitate his arm as much as they can. The royal purple dress shirt is soaked with blood around the wound, and Hermann isn't a medical doctor, and neither is Newt, so he’s not sure whether this qualifies as a bad injury, but he’s quite certain it isn’t something one merely slaps a bandage over. Unfortunately, that seems to be all they have for now, as Newt carefully undoes Hermann’s tie and wraps it around the wound to stem the blood flow. The covering helps ease some of the sting, but it still hurts, bloody _hell._

Jake, having given Juliet plenty of rope to restrain Finch with, moves back over to Hermann and Newt, dropping to a knee beside them. "How bad is it?" he asks.

"He'll live," Newt says. "But he needs treatment. I don't think any arteries got nicked, but it's not good for anybody to let a wound like this keep bleeding."

Someone is laughing. The three of them twist to see Finch on the ground, cackling like the madman he surely is.

"What's so damned funny?" Jake asks. "Seems to me that you're in no position to be merry."

"You’re all done for," Finch gasps, shaking his head. "Nothing you've learned will change anything."

"You're about to be arrested for kidnapping and attempted murder," Juliet says. "I think that'll help our case."

"Really?" Finch says. "You think anyone will believe it? It's the word of a dedicated JACRO officer against a war criminal, his deluded lover, the fuck-up son of the dead Marshall who barely managed to save the world, and some random J-Tech chick. So, when I tell them that you kidnapped  _me_ , who're they gonna believe?"

"Why the hell would we kidnap you, dude!" Newt snaps.

"Why would a man who knows he's about to be convicted for war crimes be desperate enough to kidnap his body guard and flee the premises? Gee, couldn't think of a reason," Finch snorts.

"None of this matters," Hermann mutters, digging into the pocket of his jacket. He pulls out his phone, tapping on the screen. "It's your word against my video evidence."

He holds up the phone, and the video playback shows Newt and Finch, Newt bound to the chair, and Finch going off with his convenient explanatory speech to Newt, all the confessions he’d thought would only reach the ears of a soon-to-be-dead man.

The real Finch goes red and starts screaming obscenities, until Juliet nudges him with her foot.

"Shut it, zippy," she says. "It's over, you're going to jail, your boss is going to jail, and Dr. Geiszler is walking free."

Hermann leans into Newt's side, breathing slowly.

"It may not be enough," he mumbles. "There's nothing concrete."

"It's enough to get some investigations going," Newt says, kissing his forehead. "You're my hero, babe. Kinda pissed you let him fuck with me for that long, but I think I can forgive you."

"I had to make sure there was enough," Hermann replies. "Had to make sure I got everything."

The pounding rain almost makes him miss the high-pitched wail, far off in the distance.

"Hey, Jules, did you call emergency services yet?" Jake asks.

"No, why?" she replies.

Jake frowns. "Then why do I hear sirens? And why are they getting closer?"

"Oh, those would be for me," Finch says. "You see, unlike you dumbasses, I actually make plans. I sent an ‘emergency’ text to my supervisor, something along the lines of, 'been kidnapped, think I'm somewhere in this area, send help!' Of course, that was before Ranger Reyes decided a shot in my arm would make me tell you the patrol routes in the city of our officers. Silly, really. You'd think a soldier would know that torture doesn't produce legitimate information but guess you've all watched one too many action movies."

"Then it's JACRO coming," Jake says. "Shit." He turns to Hermann. "We need to get that recording out of here. If they confiscate it, my guess is, Finch had enough sympathetic ears that it'll just magically disappear from evidence."

"Give it to me," Newt says. "They already think I'm on the run. And if JACRO gets a hold of me, god knows what'll happen."

"Running isn't going to solve this problem, Dr. Geiszler!" Juliet snaps, dragging Finch to his feet. "Then they'll actually have something to convict you for!"

"I'm already fucked, Reyes," Newt replies. "Might as well embrace my punk rock rebel self and say fuck it to the man. 

The sirens are getting louder. Newt helps Hermann to his feet. Thankfully, the knife wound is in the opposite arm with which he holds his cane, so he can stand, but he can't move his arm without lancing pain, and letting it hang free hurts only a little less. Hermann leans into Newt, shoving the phone back into his pocket.

"Hermann, I need that," Newt says.

"I'm coming with you," Hermann says. "I'll hold onto it."

"What- no. No way in hell, dude. You're hurt, you need medical treatment!"

"I am not leaving you to go this alone, Newton! Juliet, some rope in a loop, if you would?"

"Oh, uh, sure?" Juliet tosses him the remainder of the rope after she knots it together, and Hermann loops it over his neck and tucks his injured arm into it, twisting and looping it over his arm until the limb is tight against his chest.

"There," Hermann says. "We'll find a clinic, or a damned pharmacy, and you can get some alcohol and a sewing kit."

"We still don’t know how bad the injury is, you stubborn jackass! And besides, it's pouring out there, you'll get rainwater in the wound and it'll get infected and-"

"Newton!” Hermann says, gripping his arm. "We're in this together. Never apart again, do you understand? I won't have it. Together, come what may."

"Hermann..." Newt tries to plead with his eyes, but Hermann isn't backing down. He’s tired of circumstances tearing them apart. Not this time, damn the consequences.

Finally, Newt sighs and nods. "Okay. Fuck. Okay."

Newt drapes Hermann's ruined jacket over his shoulders to try and protect his injury from the rain. Reyes stays in the warehouse to keep an eye on Finch, giving them a cheery wave while she pushes her foot into his back to stop him squirming. She’s a bit terrifying, and Hermann makes a note to stay on her good side.

Jake walks them out the front door but holds a finger to his lips and motions them to follow him.

"Don't take the jeep," Jake says, leading them around the back of the warehouse. Hermann realizes that Finch will have seen them go out the front, and this is just another way to throw him off their trail. "Too big, too conspicuous. You gotta get outta the city if you can. I'll try to let my contacts know to look out for you. I've got friends in low places," he says, winking. "We'll find you and let you know when it's safe."

"You are your father's son, Jake," Hermann says, smiling faintly. "He was a good man, and so are you. Thank you."

Jake looks thrown off for a second, genuinely shocked, but his expression fades back to nonchalance within a moment.

"I've got you, ace, anytime," Jake says. He pulls the service pistol from his pocket and holds it out to Newt. "Are you any better of a shot than your partner?"

"I doubt it," Newt replies, shrugging and taking the gun anyway. "Give our apologies to Lambert. He's gonna get raked over the coals for letting me get away."

"Eh, he'll live. ‘Sides, he’s had years of practice cleaning up the fallout from my trouble-making arse." Jake steps back, gives them a half-assed salute and a wink, and jogs away.

Newt keeps an arm tight around Hermann's waist as they hurry down the muddy back alleys of the district, the sirens an ever-present threat in the background. Hermann winces with every step, every jolt of his arm, but on the positive side, the pain shoots adrenaline through his veins, keeping any residual wooziness from blood loss at bay.

They pass by quite a number of shady characters, who regard them with far longer stares than Hermann is comfortable with, but none prove to be bothersome. Soon, the mud fades back into cracked concrete, the neon signs bathing the buildings in a haunting glow as they walk. They don’t speak, no energy to waste on speech, just flashes of sensation passed between them to reassure, comfort, and motivate to continue onwards.

The sirens don't seem to get any quieter, so they keep moving. It's late enough, and the rain pours hard enough, that most people are off the streets. They try to stay under as many awnings as they can, squeeze between buildings that are so close together they block most of the rain, but after twenty minutes of walking, they're both soaked through and shivering.

"We need a plan," Hermann finally says. "We can't keep this pace forever, and they're bound to catch up."

"I know, I know," Newt says. I'm trying think... oh. Shit. Yes!"

Hermann finds himself being pulled towards a ramshackle house (it lacks any neon signage, which is a good indication that someone lives there). Parked outside is an antique looking motorcycle, protected under an awning from the rain, in excellent condition.

"We just need keys," Newt says, grinning as he pulls them under the awning.

"I am not getting on that death trap with you, Newton," Hermann gripes, wincing as Newt helps him rest against the wall of the house. "You don't know how to operate it."

"Dude.  _Dude_. I drove a motorcycle for years!" Newt says, shucking off his suit jacket over the back of the vehicle. "How the hell do you think I ever got around this city?"

"You never mentioned one," Hermann says.

"I didn't need you clucking over another 'unnecessary risk' I was taking. I've done a lot of shit you don't know about, Hermann."

"Never, ever tell me about it," Hermann says, sighing and closing his eyes. "You expect them to just hand over the keys to this?"

Newt shrugs. "I've got a plan."

Hermann hears him knock on the door, hears him babble in broken Mandarin, “ _dui bu qi, dui bu qi, uh... jie yi xia xia,_ _jin ji_ ", hears the man inside yelling in pissed-off-Mandarin. They continue to argue, until suddenly the man goes quiet, and Newt snaps something. There's a jingle, and a door slamming shut, and Hermann opens his eyes to see Newt holding up keys, grinning at him.

"What did you do?" Hermann asks.

"Don't worry about it," Newt says, guiding him over to the bike. "You wouldn't like it."

"Newton!"

"I may, uh, have threatened him. With the gun," Newt says. "See, told you that you wouldn't like it!"

"Let's go, before he shows up with friends with their own guns," Hermann sighs.

Newt helps him onto the back of the seat, and tucks his cane across it, under his knees, the only place it can really go. Then he slides onto the vehicle and pulls Hermann against him, his knees clenched into Newt's thighs, his uninjured arm wrapped around Newt's waist.

"I'll go slow," Newt promises, turning over the engine. "Fuck, this is gonna be so hot, dude. You know I used to dream about traveling the open road, a sexy chick riding pillion? You're definitely better, though."

Hermann snorts into his shoulder. "You're a menace. Let's go."

Newt guns it, and Hermann lets out a squeak, digging his fingers into Newt's stomach as the bike lurches forward. They zoom out of the alleyway, onto a narrow residential road, apartment complexes climbing high above them as they speed along.

"You said you'd go slow!" Hermann shouts over the roar of the engine.

"Dude, this is slow!" Newt shouts back.

His voice is light, excited, and he lets out a marvelous laugh as they turn around a corner, Hermann holding on for dear life. He does take them down a gear, to Hermann's relief, but the rain still blasts against their faces at every turn, and Newt stole a bike but no bloody helmets, so one wrong move and they're liable to be smeared across the concrete.

"You ever ridden before, dude?" Newt yells.

"What do you think?" Hermann shouts.

"So that's a no, then. I'm your first? Dude, that is so sweet! I promise, no crazy wheelies or sharp leans. Isn't it exhilarating, though?"

"That is not the word I would use for this, Newton!"

Newt laughs again, letting out a whoop as they fly across a bridge. There are a few cars on the road here, and Newt glides around them with ease, a practiced smoothness to his motions. Hermann relaxes slightly,  _very_  slightly. He doesn't hear sirens anymore, although that could be because the engine roars and covers all noise but the rain.

"Do you even know where you're going?" Hermann asks.

"I think so," Newt replies, turning them down another alleyway. "This is the edge of the Boneslums. The city limits aren't far off."

Hermann wants to feel happy about that, but his breath is growing labored by the minute. He presses his face into Newt's shoulder, feeling ever crack in the road, every bump, vibrate up through his arm and jostle the perforated musculature. The adrenaline is wearing off, and he's starting to feel lightheaded.

"Newton..." Hermann says, too low for Newt to hear over the engine roar. "Newton, I need to rest..."

They round a corner into an open plaza between apartments, and Hermann yelps when Newt slams on the brakes, coming to a halt. He just barely holds on, his strength giving out as the bike stops moving.

"Oh. Shit," Newt says.

Hermann lifts his head, letting out a gasp when he sees a dozen men and women dressed in formal business suits, all grey. Each one of them is holding a gun, and every gun is pointed at them.

"Who are they?" Hermann pants out. "JACRO?"

"I... I don't think so?" Newt mutters, slowly raising his hands into the air. "Um, hi there, everybody. Something we can help you with on this fine spring evening?"

"Well I'll be damned," says a voice from the crowd. A dark figure strides from the back of the pack, the other figures parting to let them through. "Thought Cheng was fucking with me when he said who stole his bike."

_Who the hell found us so fast_? Hermann thinks, shaking his head, blinking rapidly as he tries to stay awake. He squints through the rain as a man steps into the beam of an overhead light: tall, imposing, immaculately coiffed white hair that's protected from the rain by the umbrella he carries, dressed in a pin-striped suit with a white leopard scarf tucked around the collar. The man grins wide, showing gold teeth, his eyes hidden by sunglasses.

"Are you  _shitting_  me right now?" Newt yells. "Dude, how are you alive, Chau?"

Hannibal Chau lets out a deep belly laugh, his dozen followers copying the sound.

"Newton Geiszler," Chau says. "You still owe me a shoe, kid. And you stole a bike from one of my guys. Tell me why exactly I shouldn't kill you right now."

"Of all the bloody things," Hermann grouses, slurring his words a bit. "You're on trial for mass murder and trying to end the world, and he worries about a bloody shoe and a bloody stolen motorbike?"

"Hey, maybe cool it on the _bloodies_ , Herms," Newt says. "Dude runs pretty much every illegal black market in this city. Or at least he used to."

"He's the one you went to try and get a brain from at the end of the war," Hermann realizes. "Isn't he?"

"You figured it out. Ten points to Ravenclaw."

"Still waiting on an answer, Geiszler," Chau says. Hermann hears a dozen guns cocking at once.

"Okay, wait a second, wait a second!" Newt yelps. "It's been ten years, my man, you don't wanna, I don't know, catch up first? For old time's sake?"

"You're pretty shit at keeping track of time, kid," Chau says. He waves a hand, and his followers lower their guns as he walks towards Newt and Hermann. "Eight years, lest you forget the last time. I suppose you paid us enough that I can forget the shoe. Is this the infamous Dr. Gottlieb you went on and on about?"

Hermann glares at him, head swimming as he tries to keep track of how many Hannibal Chaus are actually standing in front of him. "You're the one who gave him that nasty nostril slice," Hermann says, pointing. "He went on about it for days. You're not a nice fellow."

"Oh, Jesus, oh fuck," Newt groans. "So much for making it out of here alive."

Hannibal leans down to come face to face with Hermann. Hermann glares back as best he can, but it's getting very hard to stay awake, and he breathes hard, wincing as Newt bumps his arm.

"Your boyfriend's got spunk, Geiszler," Chau says, smirking. There's a toothpick between his teeth, and he spits it sideways, in an impressive display of oral precision. "I like him. Looks like he's a little banged up, though."

"So's your face," Hermann mutters, swaying. He feels himself falling as he closes his eyes, but strong arms grab his shoulders, and then lankier ones grip him around the waist.

"Hermann," Newt calls in his ear. "Hermann, stay with me."

"Gonna sleep..." Hermann says. "G'night."

He fades out to the sound of Newt calling his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? I promised it wasn't over ;)
> 
> Thanks to AK for the Mandarin translation <3


	47. Set You Free: Chapter 27

Somehow, Hermann Gottlieb managed to be charming enough - despite being half-conscious and even crankier than usual- to get Hannibal Chau to take mercy on them and offer to help. It’s almost unfair; Newt was practically fawning over the dude when they first met, awestruck by his setup and access to Kaiju parts, and he ended up with a knife in the nose. Meanwhile, Hermann acts like a curmudgeonly dick and Chau welcomes them with open arms? It’s utter bullshit.

He’d complain, but they’re out of any better options. Also, Hermann’s lack of consciousness at the present moment is highly distressing.

So, Hannibal Chau’s help, it is.

“Let’s move out,” Hannibal says, motioning towards Newt and Hermann with a hand. “Take care of these two.”

A few of Hannibal’s men and woman approach the motorbike, arms outstretched, like they’re planning on taking Hermann away from him, and _fuck that_. Newt holds Hermann's limp form tight to his chest, Hermann’s breath ghosting against his throat. Still alive, oh thank _god_ , Newt hasn’t lost him, but nobody is taking him, nobody is _separating_ them ever again, not after everything.

“Stay the fuck away from us,” Newt growls, ready to kick and punch and scratch and _fight_ , until a big, heavy hand grips his shoulder, and Hannibal leans into his line of sight.

"Calm down, Geiszler. Nobody’s gonna take him away from you, alright? You’re both half-dead and we need to move fast. You want whoever’s chasing you to catch up and finish the job?”

Newt pales, swallowing back a fearful whimper. He flashes back to the memory of Finch, bent over Hermann, gun cocked and pointed at his head.

“We're just gonna patch him up," Hannibal says, voice low, like he’s speaking to a scared animal who’s about to bolt. Newt realizes he’s got one foot on the clutch, ready to kick the bike back to life. Hannibal continues: "Let my folks do their job. Nobody's gonna hurt him, that's a Chau guarantee."

So, Newt lets Hannibal's men pull Hermann out of his arms, even if it hurts, even if he wants to scream at them to give Hermann back. They lift Hermann onto a makeshift stretcher, and Newt stands beside it as they march through the rain, his eyes locked to Hermann's pale, unmoving form.

Hannibal takes them to a safe house he owns nearby. It's nowhere near as glorious as the fantastical Kaiju smuggler den in the back of the old alternative medicine shop; just a few blandly furnished rooms - a kitchen, a bathroom, a few bedrooms - but it's warm and out of the rain, and secure enough that Newt doesn't think anyone from JACRO will come find them.

When they reach the safe house, the men carry Hermann into a bedroom, trailed by a man and a woman dressed in surgical scrubs, carrying bags of equipment.

Newt tries to follow, but Hannibal catches his shoulder again.

"Let 'em work, Geiszler," he says. "It won’t do either of you any good to hover. There's a hot shower and clean clothes in the other bedroom. Get yourself washed up, and we'll chat."

"Fine. Just- why are you being nice to us, dude?" Newt asks, pulling off his soaked jacket. "You're not nice unless you want something."

Hannibal snorts, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You've got a story to tell, and I want to hear it."

"You said we met again eight years ago," Newt replies. "The only time I ever remember us meeting was that night at the end of the war."

Hannibal's cheek twitches. "So, it's true, then," he says. "You've lost your memory."

"Some of it, yeah. Not all, but enough so that people keep talking about shit I don't have any context for."

"We met," Hannibal says, nodding. "One more time. Go shower and change. Then we'll talk."

The water is wonderfully hot, just as Hannibal had promised. Newt stands under the stream, washing the mud and Hermann's blood from his hands, watching the brown and red swirl down the drain.

_I should go to church, or temple, or something_ , Newt thinks. _Nobody survives this many near-death experiences unless there's somebody watching out for them._

_You're an atheist, you prat_ , the Gottliebian bit of his brain reminds him.

_Eh. Feels like a hell of a lot of miracles have happened lately_ , he replies to himself. _Show me enough evidence, and maybe I could be convinced._

When he's done with the shower, he finds drawers of plain black t-shirts in varying sizes, as well as a multitude of blue jeans or sweatpants, dealer's choice. He goes for the jeans, then tugs on some clean white socks and pads back out to the living room.

Hannibal is speaking with the medical staff Newt saw earlier. He dismisses them with a wave when he sees Newt, and motions to the dinette that straddles the line of the kitchen and living room. There's a mug of something steaming, and a sandwich on a plate.

"Gottlieb is stable," Hannibal says. "Lost a little too much blood to stay conscious, but he's been hooked up to a transfusion, and they cleaned and stitched up his arm. You're lucky that whatever dumb fuck stabbed him missed anything vital. My folks gave him something for the pain and to keep him under for a few hours, so he can rest. He should wake up no worse for wear."

The knot – the one that's been in Newt's chest since Hermann was stabbed - uncoils. "Thank you, Hannibal. Seriously, I owe you one."

"You sure you wanna say that, Geiszler?" Hannibal asks, raising an eyebrow. "People who owe me things don't like what I ask for repayment."

Newt considers this point, evaluates its validity, and then shakes his head. "On second thought, let's call it even. You saved us, we saved the world. Really, you're the one who owed us, I guess. I mean, unless that's not how you feel? Fuck, I mean- whatever you want, dude! You're the boss around here. Please don't bring the butterfly knife out again."

To Newt’s surprise, Hannibal lets out a chuckle and sits down.

"Sit and eat, kid," he says. "Tell me how you got here."

So, Newt devours the sandwich, and chugs the coffee, and starts to relay the entirety of the past month's events, but then he realizes he's going to have to go back for context and starts at the A.L.I.C.E. project. But then he realizes that all of this really began at the end of the Kaiju War, with an unread note and a missed connection, and of course, none of that makes sense if Hannibal doesn’t know his and Hermann’s history.

By the time he's done, the last bit of coffee is cold in the cup, and the clock has ticked by two hours.

Hannibal sits back in the chair, stretching his back out, audible cracks that make Newt twitch.

"That's a hell of a story, kid," Hannibal says. He digs into his pocket and lifts out Hermann's cell phone, which the med techs must have handed off to him, sliding it across the table. "You've got a plan then?"

Newt picks up the phone, tucking it in his own pocket. "No idea, dude. I'm not deciding anything until I can talk to Hermann. But now I wanna know about the last time we met. I shared my story, you share yours."

"It was only briefly," Hannibal says, shrugging. "You found one of my guys, asked us to steal something outta the Hong Kong Shatterdome. If I remember correctly, it was that fucking brain you jacked into ten years back."

"You stole it for me?" Newt asks. "Why? Thought you were pissed at me."

"I was, but you dropped quite a hefty bit of cash for it, and I don't say no to good deals." He shrugs again. "If I had known where it would lead, I woulda told you to fuck off. Shit, my business ends with dead bodies sometimes, sure, but it doesn't almost end the world."

"I'm thinking I was already in their control by that point," Newt says. "Or at least partially. So, not that you ever feel bad or guilty for anything-"

"Damn right."

"But it's probably only a little bit your fault. Just a tad. Maybe like five percent."

"You're giving me itchy fingers, Geiszler. Butterfly knife is close to coming out."

"Right, shutting up now."

They sit in companionable silence for a moment, which is kind of crazy for Newt to think about, being _companionable_ with Hannibal fucking Chau in any way.

_Dad always worried I'd fall in with the wrong crowd_ , Newt thinks, twisting the mug of cold coffee back and forth on the table. _Don't think he ever thought the wrong crowd would include an alien hivemind and a Hong Kong black market king._

"What's with all the grey suits, man?" Newt asks. "I remember you being a lot more... colorful."

"Clientele has changed since the Kaiju stock dried up," Hannibal says. "Lot of corporate work now, high powered biotech companies who are fighting over whatever's left. Thanks for that MegaKaiju, by the way. That'll give us a bump in business for another few years."

"Sure, any time you need me to get possessed by the Precursors and reopen the Breach, so your bottom line can get padded, you just let me know," Newt snarks.

Hannibal leans over the table, holding up a finger.

"You get one tonight, Geiszler, and that was it," he says. "You're in my house, under my watch. Don't push your luck."

Newt takes a breath and nods. "Sorry. I'm just fucking tweaked out and freaked out and everything's gone to shit, you know? I don't know where to go from here. I really need Hermann to wake up, so we can talk."

Hannibal nods and slides up out of his chair. "Well, when you figure it out, let us know. I've got work to do, but the guards outside will make sure nobody gets in. Or out," he adds. "So, don't go trying to slip through a window."

"Are we, like, hostages then?" Newt asks.

Hannibal snorts and shakes his head. "No. I just wanna be informed of when you vacate these premises. You can leave or stay as long as you'd like. Figure shit out with your boyfriend, Geiszler. Just let me know what you decide."

"Thanks," Newt nods. "I, uh, yeah. Just, thanks."

"You're just lucky I fucking hate JACRO more than I hate you," Hannibal says, smirking.

He leaves Newt to ponder the evening’s events, and what he'll say when Hermann wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shortie today. We're winding down, I really hope everyone is enjoying all the twists and turns and the ride :)


	48. Set You Free: Chapter 28

The first thing Hermann feels when he wakes up is a dull, muted pain. Much duller than before, in fact, barely there at all. His brain is fuzzy, like the sheets under his left hand, and he's warm, almost uncomfortably so, if not for his propensity to require more warmth than an average fellow. His right arm rests across his chest, and he can feel the band of a sling across his opposite shoulder. Someone must have fixed up his arm before putting him here. Or perhaps while he was here.

His mouth is horribly dry, and he coughs and hears someone move to his left.

"You awake, Herms?" A hand presses to Hermann's forehead, hot and soft. Hermann opens his eyes to see Newt in a chair next to his bedside. It’s a relief that he’s here, that they were not separated yet again. Hermann cannot imagine he would be capable of this calm if Newt were anywhere but here in this moment.

"Hello," Hermann says, coughing again. "Water, if you could."

"Shit, yeah, one sec," Newt says, springing up from the chair. He disappears from the room, and Hermann listens to a lot of clanging and banging as Newt looks to find something for Hermann to drink, returning a minute later with a glass of water and a straw.

Hermann tries to sit up, pushing with his left arm, but Newt's hand rests against his sternum and he gives Hermann a gentle nudge.

"Just relax, dude. I've got you," Newt says. “You need to rest.”

"I am not an invalid-" Hermann begins.

"Course not, just a guy laid up in a makeshift hospital bed 'cause he got stabbed through the fucking arm." Newt flashes a grin and eases Hermann back against the pillows, holding the glass near his mouth and pinching the straw where it curves to keep it still. "Shut up and drink your water, Hermann."

Hermann scowls but drinks when Newt lowers the straw to his lips. The cool liquid parches his thirst and washes the hoarseness from his voice.

"Where are we?" he asks when Newt pulls the straw back.

"Hannibal's safehouse," Newt replies. He sets the glass down on a nearby cart and scoots the chair closer to the bed, sitting so his knees press against the mattress. "We're fucking lucky, man. You charmed a goddamn mob boss and you were barely lucid. Swear to god, people with British accents can get away with _a-ny-thing_."

Hermann snorts, rolling his eyes. "Perhaps you might consider how atrociously your first impressions usually come off, before blaming my manner of speaking."

"I would smack you if you weren't already hurt. Ass," Newt says, but he’s smiling. "How's the arm feeling?"

"Aching, but bearable." Hermann runs a hand through his hair, feeling the way it sticks up at odd angles, a positively Newtonian look. Touching a part of his physical being makes him evaluate the rest of his form, and he realizes something, and lifts the bedsheet. "I'm not wearing my court clothes."

"That one wasn't me," Newt admits, shrugging. "But I don't think you would've liked it if they’d left you in wet clothes to catch hypothermia."

"Undressed by strangers. Lovely," Hermann sighs. "I suppose we've suffered far worse indignities this evening. What's the hour?"

"Erm, probably one, or two?" Newt says, shrugging. "I don't have a watch or a phone, and I haven't really been looking at the clock. More important things to keep an eye on,” he mumbles, pointedly looking Hermann up and down, and Hermann realizes he must have been sitting here for hours, watching over him. Maybe afraid that, despite whatever reassurances Chau gave him, Hermann wouldn’t wake up. “You want me to let you sleep?" Newt finishes.

Hermann shakes his head rapidly. "No, I- I'd rather you stay. In fact, I'd rather you were on this bed with me." It is a queen size, after all, perfectly large enough to accommodate them both.

"Your arm, though?"

"You're not going to do me any damage lying on the opposite side of it. Really, Newton, I'm not a china doll."

"Dude, you got fucking stabbed! I'm not trying to baby or patronize you, so cut the stiff upper lip bullshit, you wannabe Englishman."

"I'm not- bloody hell, Newton, is it so hard to imagine that after finding you'd been kidnapped, almost watching you die and then almost dying myself, I might be in need of a little _physical intimacy?_ " Really, the man can be so _obtuse_ sometimes.

Newt winces. "Alright, alright. Jesus... I get your point."

They end up with Newt lying close but not atop Hermann, his hand resting across the flat of Hermann's stomach, his forehead pressed to Hermann's good shoulder. It’s not the full body contact Hermann craves, but it’s the safest and most realistic expectation at the moment.

"I'm sorry," Newt says, after a beat of silence.

Hermann glances down. "What do you possibly have to be sorry for?"

"For implying that you were clouding my judgement. And getting kidnapped. And driving too fast. Pretty much everything that's happened tonight, I guess."

"Well, just so long as you don't go getting kidnapped again, darling."

Newt snorts. "I'll try to avoid pissing off any more sociopathic JACRO douchebags."

At the mention of Finch, Hermann realizes he doesn’t feel any sort of weight in his pocket, and pats at it with his good hand. "My phone?"

"I've got it," Newt says, pulling it out and waving it in front of Hermann's face. "We need to get this to Liwen. You think you can work your charming British-accented magic again and get Hannibal to help us with that?"

"I'll attempt it in the morning," Hermann replies. He's quite certain he's no more likely to convince Chau to assist them than Newt is, only that Newt probably knows his mouth is more liable to get them tossed out than Hermann's is. "Do you think she'll be able to use it?"

"It's at least good enough to get a search warrant. Probably," Newt says. "And it'll keep that fucker Finch rotting in a jail cell. I just hope Reyes and Pentecost are okay."

"I'm certain they are," Hermann says. "They're both terribly capable people."

Newt pushes up off his right arm to lean over Hermann, smirking. "Speaking of capable, where do you get off, dude? Running in, guns blazing, making demands of psycho killers? That was some John McClane shit. Who knew that under those grandpa sweaters lurked an unfazable badass."

Hermann rolls his eyes. "On your first point, there was no running involved. Secondly, it was a single gun which I did not know how to wield, and finally, you'll remember that my reckless abandon ended in a knife in my arm and a gun pointed at my head. John McClane, I am not."

"But see, like McClane, you entered an impossible situation and prevailed, defeated the villain, saved your girl -- ay-kay-ay _me_ \-- and made a badass getaway. I mean, Reyes kinda took the McClane role for the actual takedown of Finch, but you were right there for like eighty five percent of it. So, yeah. Bruce Willis would be proud, rest in peace."

Hermann snorts, glad that Newt has chosen to ignore the obvious line of questioning, which is how exactly Hermann knows anything about _Die Hard_. "Much as your incessant prattling sometimes drives me batty, I couldn't very well let Finch remove your tongue. Certainly, kissing and other pleasurable activities would've become much more awkward."

"Did you just imply that you saved me from getting de-tongued just so I could keep giving you _blow jobs_?"

Hermann grins. "Of course not, dear. Haven't the foggiest clue what you mean."

Newt giggle-snorts and kisses him, teasing his lips with the aforementioned tongue. "You're such a shit, Hermann Gottlieb," he mumbles when they break apart. "I can't believe I used to think you were a humorless prude."

With Newt's face pressed to his forehead, they lie quietly for another few minutes. Hermann thinks back over the evening, marveling that they’re both still alive and relatively whole. He’d accepted it, when Finch had pressed that gun to his face, when Newt’s anguished screaming and sobbing – noises that will haunt him, noises he desperately hopes he’ll never hear again -- drove a pain into his heart more brutal than the knife in his arm. He’d accepted that he would die, only hoping that Reyes and Jake would come through in time to save Newt. After all they have struggled through, it would not be right, not fair, not just, if Newt were to die. Perhaps it is good, then, that this evening happened. With the evidence of the tape, their last obstacle to Newt’s survival might be beatable.

"Why did you ask Illia to come and get me?" Hermann asks after a time.

"Oh. Oh, shit, I almost forgot," Newt says. "So, um, get this. You know your dad?"

"I am acquainted with him, yes."

"Well apparently, so am I. He worked on the A.L.I.C.E. project, Herms."

Hermann lifts his head, gaping at Newt. "You aren't serious!"

"Deadly serious, dude. Illia had my old letters to him shipped here. One of them mentions Lars. Maybe more of them do, I'm not sure, I just saw the first one and knew you needed to know."

"That spiteful charlatan!" Hermann yelps, smacking his fist against the bedspread. "He knew, he knew this entire time and he hid it from me!"

Newt shrugs. "I mean, we don't know _what_  he knows. We just know that he was a part of it. For all we know, he could've been just as in the dark about Fudvi and the end of the project as Katya was."

"Unlikely," Hermann grouses. "My father has a bad habit of sticking his nose into business that doesn't concern him and attempting to make his opinion known."

Newt frowns. "Sounds like you've got something specific in mind."

Hermann sighs. "I spoke to him, one evening, when you were asleep. He refused to help and implied that my helping you was a fool's errand. Now I wonder if he knew what Finch and Jefferson were planning."

"Well, we can let Mingxia know and maybe she can press him for answers." Newt's hand slips down to clutch Hermann's good one, his thumb idly stroking atop the middle three knuckles. "I feel like we're so close to understanding all of this."

"Newt... what will you do if we run out of time?" Hermann asks.

Newt blinks, staring at him. "You mean, what if we don't uncover the truth before the trial?"

"Yes," Hermann says. "What then? What shall we do?"

"I... I don't know." Newt sighs, dragging a hand over his face. "Can we talk about it later? Right now, I'm just thankful we're both alive."

The lateness of the hour, and the strain of the evening's events on Hermann's body are beginning to take their toll. He yawns and nestles his forehead against Newt's shoulder, eyes fluttering shut, humming contentedly as Newt strokes his hair.

"I meant it, you know," Hermann murmurs.

"Hmmm?"

"It was all worth it. And I'd do it again if I had to."

Newt's hand stills. Hermann glances up.

"You can't keep saving my life, Hermann," Newt answers, softly. "One day my luck is gonna run out. And I can't-" He stops, eyes clenching shut, breathing harshly. "I can't watch you almost die again trying to save me from my own mistakes."

"I won't sit idly by," Hermann replies. "Have I ever? Do you think I'd have let you take that first drift by yourself if I knew you'd be foolish enough to try it? You don't seem to comprehend, so let me make it perfectly clear. I thought my world was ending when I saw you lying on the lab floor. All we'd strived for, it would've been for naught if you died."

"Hermann-"

"No," Hermann says. He reaches up to cup Newt's cheek, stubbornly drawing him back when Newt tries to pull away, until their eyes meet. "I told you in the warehouse. I've told you a thousand times in every action I've taken, and yet you're either oblivious or unwilling to accept the truth. Damn the rest of the bloody universe, Newton. We go together. Come what may."

Newt looks him over a long while. Whatever he's looking for, Hermann doesn't know if he finds it, only that he finds something. He leans down, pressing a chaste kiss to Hermann's mouth before settling back down, forehead tucked under Hermann's chin, hands linked together.

Hermann gets the sense this isn't the last time this argument will come up. But if there's one thing he's talented at, it's immovable stubbornness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, I'm posting chapters on a reasonable schedule again! :D :D :D


	49. Set You Free: Chapter 29

The next morning, one of Hannibal's guards hands Newt a tablet.

"Looks like you made the news, Doc," the mook says.

Newt stares at the screen. The words TERROR MANIAC GEISZLER ON THE RUN are emblazoned across the Daily Mail article, and below the lede is a picture of himself, except he's never seen it before. The cold, dead look behind the eyes tells him that he was possessed when it was taken. There's a line of blood down his cheek, and he recognizes the back of the holding chair, the image triggering a flashback to his period of confinement by restraint that leaves him cold and tossing the tablet onto the couch, upturned, so he doesn't have to look at it.

 _How the fuck did they get that picture?_  Newt thinks, yanking the door of the fridge open. _It looks like something taken for an internal file._  Is that the picture that's been running on articles about his involvement in the MegaKaiju attack? He looks just as sociopathic as one would expect a genocidal maniac to be. Can’t be good for his public image.

He pushes the image out of his mind to survey the well-stocked refrigerator, much fuller than it was hours ago. Someone must've shopped for them, and they must expect that he and Hermann will be there for a while. Whether that's true remains to be seen.

While he whips together breakfast, he debates what to do about the video, and finally asks the guard to pass a message along to Hannibal. By the time Hermann emerges from the bedroom, there's a stack of pancakes a foot high in the middle of the dinette, two sets of cutleries, two glasses of orange juice, and an accompanying butter dish and bottle of syrup. It’s the fake, corn syrup kind; the good stuff is hard to get on this side of the world. Even Hannibal Chau would have trouble importing a bottle of quality maple. Illia used to send him small ones in the post, little bottles Newt would keep in his room and secret pancakes into the bunk to dunk and devour greedily.

"How domestic," Hermann quips, coming over to kiss Newt good morning. "It almost makes me forget about the hole in my arm and our life on the lam."

Newt snorts and flicks him on the good shoulder. "Pancakes make everything better. At least for the fifteen minutes you'll be stuffing them into your face."

Hermann grunts unconvincingly but hooks his cane over the back of a chair and plops down, stabbing his fork into the stack and yanking three pancakes onto his plate in quick succession. He leans forward to reach the butter dish, wincing as he shifts his other shoulder.

"Hey, here," Newt says, sliding into the opposite seat and picking up the dish, holding it out. "Drugs wearing off?"

"Likely," Hermann acknowledges, taking the butter from him. "I'd imagine there's a bottle of maximum strength paracetamol in the medicine cabinet, knowing the individuals who normally stay here and their penchant for injury. I'll take some after eating. You didn't burn these," he continues, poking at the top pancake.

Newt scowls, a bit offended. "Who are you, Gordon Ramsey? I'll have you know I'm damn good in the kitchen. You've had my uncle's cooking, you think he didn't teach me a thing or two?"

"You never cooked before," Hermann reminds him, dousing the short stack with an amount of syrup so disgustingly large, it practically makes them float on the dish.  Hermann has always had an implacable sweet tooth. Newt was always finding things stashed away in the lab: a bag of Werthers in one cabinet, a chocolate bar filed in a drawer of broken motherboards, one time a box of mini-donuts hidden in an unused computer tower that Newt was sure was empty, until he knocked the side panel off by accident. When questioned, Hermann admitted his mother's health conscious attitudes and his father's disdain for joy (and, admittedly, the diabetes) led to a dearth of opportunities for sugar as a child, and as one might expect, him overindulging as an adult.

 _Well fuck you and your perfect stupid metabolism keeping you skinny and fit as hell_ , Newt had groused, back before the implications of him describing Hermann as _fit_  were realized.

Eventually, Hermann gained the privilege of the secret maple syrup bottles, holed up in Newt’s bunk on Saturday mornings while they soaked the awful Shatterdome pancakes with the delicious viscous liquid and devoured them.

"I never had the time," Newt counters, tugging the bottle away and pouring a more reasonable (though still way too much) amount onto his own stack, piled five high. "Hyperfixation on work and the end of the world clawing at our backs, you know how it is."

Hermann makes an agreeable sound, cutting into the stack with the side of his fork. "Well, color me pleasantly surprised, then. Though I suppose there isn't much skill mixing water with boxed powder." The edge of his mouth is curled up with the edge of his eyebrow. He's teasing. 

Newt grins and picks up one whole pancake with his fork, knives be damned. "I'll have you know, I can make these from _scratch_ , Gottlieb. If you're very nice to me, I might consider whipping up some eggs next. Maybe throw some diced tomatoes and spinach and cheese all in there, make it fancy."

"Don't ruin perfectly good eggs with tomatoes, Newton. You know I can't stand the bloody things."

"Shit, you did always kvetch and moan on pasta nights. The whole Shatterdome to feed, and you ask the cooks for white sauce."

"It was jarred alfredo heated up in a microwave. I was calculating possible Breach scenarios and Kaiju attack timetables for twelve hours a day in order to save the world, I don't believe I asked too much."

"There's always gotta be one," Newt says, pointing at Hermann with the fork, half a pancake still dangling precariously off the tip. "The one who always made dinner service a waiter's hell. Now I know it's you. I'm never going out to eat at a real restaurant with you."

"You waitered?" Hermann asks, picking up his orange juice. "I never knew."

Newt shrugs, stuffing the other half of the pancake into his mouth. Hermann looks at him like he's a bit disgusted, but he chews through the food and swallows at least half of it before answering, because he's polite like that. "A little bit during college. Just because I was a super fucking genius who earned a billion scholarships, doesn't mean we didn't have bills to pay. Dad didn't have cash to spare, so I needed spending money for anything extraneous. Like a nice lab setup in my childhood bedroom. What, you never did shit jobs for shit pay?"

"I worked at the university library," Hermann admits. "It was quiet, and I could study while I worked. As my father was an attending professor there, I would've had my education and rooming covered, if I hadn't also had it covered through scholarships."

"You were still kissing your dad's ass back then," Newt says, stabbing another pancake. "God, if only teenage you could see adult you now. Sticking it to the man, drifting with aliens to save the world, John McClane-ing into a life or death situation to save your boyfriend."

"I believe your teenage self would be perfectly unfazed to see how you are now," Hermann says, eyes twinkling with mirth in a way that makes Newt feel all melty inside. "Perhaps wondering where his lip ring had gone, but otherwise, just as he would've assumed."

"I'm so fucking pissed Illia showed you that picture. I'm gonna find it and burn it. Swear to Christ."

Their continued breakfast conversation stays lighthearted. They need a break from the doom and gloom, need to feel like a normal couple doing perfectly average things, and not like two men on the run, their time together hard fought for and precariously close to ending. Newt rests his head on his hand, watches Hermann chatter away about a paper he'd been working on, so much more open and expressive when he's around Newt, smiling and engaged. He imagines what this could be like for real: waking up on Saturday mornings, Newt cooking breakfast while Hermann comes up behind him, wraps his arms around Newt's waist and murmurs a _good morning_  into his ear before setting the table. Afterwards, they would curl up together on the couch, reading articles or watching a movie, trading lazy kisses that would eventually lead to them ignoring other activities for something much more pleasurable.

God, he's never wanted a quiet life, always wanted excitement, but there's a certainty and stability with Hermann, someone he can always rely on, someone always willing to welcome him with open arms and make him feel missed.

Hermann's hand is resting on the table, and Newt finds his own scooting across, closing the distance to meet it, his fingers curling into Hermann's palm. Hermann keeps talking, but his smile gets a bit wider, and he gently squeezes Newt's hand.

 _Home_ , Newt thinks. _Home is wherever I'm with you._

Fuck, that song was so fucking cheesy, but it got it right.

But as wonderful as this is... there's still that deep well in his gut, that reminder that he lives while twenty-thousand other people do not. They can't spend lazy mornings with their loved ones, can't come home to them. And Newt knows that if he doesn't find out what his part was in causing that, the guilt will never leave him. It'll grow and grow, an eternal infection of his conscious, coloring every happy memory he makes, and the hivemind won't have to distort anything, because he'll do it to himself.

Newt has to know the truth. It's an inherent part of who he is, why he strapped his brain to a Pons to drift with a Kaiju in the first place. It's probably that need that caused this fiasco, but still... he has to know. He could be acquitted by the ICC tomorrow, and still, it wouldn't be enough. He wants to understand. He deserves to understand. And fuck it, so do the loved ones of everyone who died because of him. He can at least give them that closure, if he can't bring those twenty-thousand back.

Hermann has stopped talking, and Newt realizes that he's been staring at the other man, not speaking, for a good thirty seconds.

"Is everything alright?" Hermann asks.

"Fine," Newt lies, squeezing his hand. "Never better."

Newt fears the truth will devastate Hermann. The other man is so confident that Newt didn't actively choose to drift with the Kaiju again when he knew the risks. What if he's wrong? What if, as Newt hypothesizes, Newt was so desperate for the project to succeed that he ignored the obvious danger, too cocky from two successful drifts, too confident in his own resilience? And knowing that another person co-drifting would mitigate some of the effects, he had convinced Fudvi to join him? Finch had said that he'd done something to Fudvi.

Newt doesn't want to hurt Hermann, any more than he already has. He'd give anything to-

 _You can't change the past, so stop fucking ruminating over it, Jesus._  

He doesn't want to hurt this amazing, brilliant, brave, self-sacrificing man, but he's going to. Maybe that's the tragedy of their relationship. Maybe it's a cycle they're never going to break, because Newt is too stubborn and foolish and reckless. Even now, he realizes that if he'd only gone with Illia to see Hermann, Finch wouldn't have gotten the chance to kidnap him, and they wouldn't be in this mess. Another way he's caused Hermann pain. Literal, physical injury this time.

"Newton..." Crap, he's been quiet again, and Hermann looks uncertain. Newt smiles, standing up.

"I'll clean this stuff up. You go find something for us to watch, yeah?"

He can practically feel Hermann's eyes boring into his back as he gathers the dishes and turns away to the sink. But he turns on the faucet and starts scrubbing a pan, and after a moment, Hermann's chair slides across the floor and his cane taps on the linoleum, moving away towards the living room.

Newt is going to hurt Hermann, because Newt isn't going to stop until he finds out the truth.


	50. Set You Free: Chapter 30

Hermann supposes he should be surprised when Hannibal steps into the safehouse trailed by Mingxia, but at this point, nothing can really surprise him.

Mingxia looks at them, shakes her head, and sighs.

"Not five minutes out of somebody's watch, Dr. Geiszler, and you get kidnapped. Very bad form."

Newt grins and shrugs. "Look, my talents are varied and sometimes unhelpful. I got intellectually kidnapped for almost a decade. This was just the inevitable sequel to that."

"How are you here?" Hermann asks, squinting and pointing an accusatory finger at Hannibal. "Why is she here?"

"Mr. Chau and I go back," Mingxia says, glancing over at Chau. He says nothing, merely quirks a lip, eyes always hidden behind those damnable sunglasses. "We've crossed paths a number of times."

"You crossed paths with a Kaiju smuggler while handling corporate malpractice suits?" Newt asks, leveling her with a suspicious look.

Chau smirks. "You wouldn't believe the sorts of malpractice that corporate can attempt when trying to purchase illegal materials," he says, pulling a lollipop out of his pocket and unwrapping it. When Newt gives him a questioning look, he shrugs and pops the candy in his mouth. "Quitting smoking is a bitch, Geiszler, and I have a sweet tooth. Anyway, to answer your question, Gottlieb, the kid here asked me to pass a message this morning, and I figured it would just be easier to have it delivered in person. Even if client-attorney privilege didn't cover your hiding out, I doubt she'd give away your location. We'd definitely have a problem then."

"You know me, Hannibal," Mingxia says, heels clicking on the linoleum as she takes the armchair perpendicular to the couch Newt and Hermann have been curled up on, watching TV, for hours. "Protecting my client is my priority."

"You're not as clean as you pretend to be," Newt says. "Are you?"

"Are any of us, Newt?" Mingxia asks. "Would we all still be here if you and the Senior Pentecost hadn't gotten your hands dirty? There is some English metaphor I have heard, something about stones and throwing them at buildings."

"Much as we're all wildly interested in your shared history,” Hermann interrupts, “which I'm sure is fascinating, there are matters we have to attend to.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, taps the screen a few times, and places it on the coffee table in front of them, scooting it towards Mingxia. "You need to watch this."

Mingxia picks up the phone. Finch's voice, muffled by the noise of shortened breathing and swishing clothes, is audible enough to make out what he's saying. Hermann's watched this video once -- forced himself to, his chest twisting in fear through the whole thing, even though he knows the outcome, knows Newt is going to be okay. But the terror in Newt's eyes, the blatant knowledge written across his features that he's about to die...

After Hermann finished watching it, he found Newt in the bedroom and held him tight, breathing his scent in, _alive, alive, alive_ drumming through his brain.

Now, hearing the recording play back, Hermann grips Newt's hand, repeating that mantra, _alive, alive, alive._

When it's finished, Mingxia's expression hasn't changed, but there's a hardness to her gaze, an unmistakable look of determination.

"What do you think you can do with it?" Newt asks. "Is it enough? You've gotta at least be able to sow some doubt with the judges, shift some of the blame to Jefferson."

"Even if he denies it," Hermann says, "it should be enough for a warrant, don't you think?"

"More than enough," Mingxia says, nodding. She pulls a small case out of her purse and opens the back of Hermann's phone. The case holds a micro-storage device that snaps into Hermann's phone. "I'll take a copy of it and leave you the phone as a backup. If Jefferson's been arrogant enough to keep anything from the A.L.I.C.E. project, if I move fast, I might be able to find it. He's got an office in LA and housing provided by the PPDC."

"Finch will almost certainly have warned him," Hermann says. "You must hurry. He could be destroying evidence as we speak."

Mingxia nods again. "I'll get this started as soon as I leave. But listen, any further communication between us will be through third parties. I'm concerned that once I provide this video, they'll know that I know your location and if I try to return, they'll track me. In fact, Hannibal, I'd suggest moving them again, just to be safe."

"Already planning on it," Chau says, nodding. "I know how to hide people in this city, Ms. Xié. I've hidden whole empires in this city, two scientists shouldn't be an issue."

"Don't presume," Mingxia chides. "The PPDC has eyes and ears everywhere. You 'hid' your empire while Marshall Pentecost knew exactly where to find you, and Marshall Hansen was gracious enough to leave you be. Marshall Galan was a figurehead who could barely keep control of the Rangers, but with his recent death and Lambert the acting Marshall until the new Secretary General can officially appoint him, all the cards are up in the air."

"The Rangers aren't the PPDC," Chau reminds her. "Or at least, have never tended to be lackeys of the council."

"Cards in the air," Mingxia replies. "Nothing is ever certain, you should know better. Or have you gotten lax in your old age, _Du Yan Long_?"

There's a snicker from Newt, but when Chau glances over, both he and Hermann keep their eyes firmly ceiling-ward. _Definitely a history there_ , Hermann thinks, more curious now. _I wonder..._

Chau sighs. "Never. Well, you heard what the lady said, boys. Looks like we're gonna need to move you."

"Are you alright to travel?" Newt asks Hermann, concern writ across his features.

"Certainly," Hermann replies, nodding and patting his knee. "Really, Newton, _I promise_ ," he emphasizes when Newt looks doubtful. Hong Kong is a large city, but he’s quite sure that no travel Chau can put them through will compare to yesterday evening's events.

Mingxia snaps her purse closed after she packs away the storage card, and stands up. "Keep low, gentlemen. I will let you know what comes of this as soon as I can. Remember though, the trial is set to begin in less than seventy-two hours. This video may exonerate your initial elopement from the Shatterdome, but if you fail to return in time, there is nothing I can do to help you."

"Might I have a word with you?" Hermann asks as she turns to leave. "Privately, if that's alright?" Newt gives him a questioning look, and Hermann mouths _father_ to him. He knows Newt failed to mention that little detail to Chau, and he's not planning on making it known. He wants as few people mixed up in Chau's field of view as possible.

They step into the foyer that separates the exit staircase up to ground level from the living space. Hermann explains to Mingxia what Newt uncovered about his father's seeming involvement in the A.L.I.C.E. project. Mingxia listens silently, lips pursed, fingers drumming on the lip of her bag.

"So, do you believe he would be helpful? Or harmful?" Mingxia asks when she's done.

"I'm not entirely sure," Hermann admits. "If he knows something, he might have a vested interest in keeping Newt quiet. On the other hand, he might have a reason to benefit from assisting us. Would you look into it?"

"Why not talk to him yourself?" Mingxia asks. "You've arranged communication before. I am sure Hannibal can set up another chat."

"The last time we talked... it did not end amicably," Hermann says. "He was very blunt in his assessment of Newton as not worth risking myself over. If you're to get anything useful out of him, it should be discreet and not involve me."

"You believe he would not help you," Mingxia states. "You are his son."

"I am a failure to him," Hermann says, sighing. "He's always made that very clear. I accepted it long ago."

"And yet you say he thought you should not risk yourself for Dr. Geiszler."

"Another failure." Hermann smiles. "Failure to supersede my heart for what he believes reason should dictate. It's always been a bone of contention between us. As much as people seem to believe I'm cold and heartless..." He drifts off. Enough has been said to make the point, and he'd rather not reminisce over old wounds and ancient hurts. Never focused and logical enough for father, never warm and emotional for the rest of the world.

Mingxia regards him for a long moment. Then, to Hermann's surprise, she rests a hand on his shoulder.

"You have a good heart," she says. "Good in the ways Dr. Geiszler needs. The ones who matter will see it, and the ones who do not, do not matter."

"I feel as if that's a proverb. Words of wisdom from a malpractice lawyer," Hermann says, smiling faintly.

"All the best lawyers have some philosophy in us. Juries are fickle, and persuasion often supersedes evidence." Mingxia shrugs.

Hermann nods, as if that's an entirely comforting thought. "Yes, well. Please let Illia, and Jake, and Hadiyya, and Tendo, and Rangers Reyes, and Lambert, well, let them all know we're unharmed. Mostly. No need to worry them further."

"I shall. Stay safe, Dr. Gottlieb."

Newt is speaking quietly with Chau when he steps back into the living space. They glance up at him, and Newt holds his fist up, thumb jutting out and wavering between going up and down. Hermann gives him a thumb up and rests heavy against his cane, wincing as he leans a bit too far forward and the stitches in his arm pull.

"Are you sure you're gonna be fine with a move?" Newt asks, sliding off the couch. "You don't want to go lay down for a while? You look like you're hurting."

"Now who's the fretter?" Hermann snarks, a tad more bitter than he meant to. Damn the pain. "I'll take another pill and as long as we have suitable transport, I can manage a short journey. We're not leaving the city, are we?"

Hannibal shakes his head and pulls out a phone. "I've got a good place in the North district. Quiet, out of the way, fewer people to recognize you. Let me make a call. It'll take at least an hour, so go get a nap in, Gottlieb."

Hermann retires to the bedroom, Newt on his heels. They curl up on the bed in silence, listening to the rain outside continue beating a steady drum beat against the roof. Hermann remembers it pounding against his slicked hair on the motorcycle, the thrum of the engine under his knees and the press of Newt against his chest as he held on for dear life. And yet Newt laughed, no fear, thrill laced through his voice, a clear, clean joy. The excitement of someone cooped up so long finally breaking free, even if the circumstances weren't the greatest.

Newt was a prisoner in his mind, even if his body roamed free, and then a prisoner of body, even with a free mind. Tearing through the streets on that bike was possibly the first time he's been free in every sense of the word in eight years. Hermann can't imagine the type of strength, the type of will it would take to survive and come out the other side with any sort of capability for joy left inside him. Men and women suffer through capture, torture, isolation, and even if they only experience it for a few months, they're forever changed. Their loved ones are forever changed, living with this person who carries so much pain and who fights every day to push past it. To find something that can beat back the darkness.

_You're not alright_ , Newt had said to him just days ago, in complete seriousness. As if Hermann's suffering could ever compare to Newt's own. As if his need for comfort, for healing, was just as important. How could it be? How can Hermann justify asking for Newt to give more than he's already had to?

This is why Hermann can't be another voice telling Newt that it's his fault. Asking Newt to justify his actions, when they don't even know whether it was his actions that caused this. This is why, when Hermann thinks about Newt going to trial, being punished, being told he needs to, no, _deserves_ to suffer more, Hermann wants to bang his fists against the nearest surface and scream, _can't you see he's already served his time? Can't you see how much he's lost? How much more would you take from him?_

Now, in the echoing drumbeat of a late spring rainstorm, Newt fitted against his chest -- like two puzzle pieces separated upon their creation, just waiting to be slotted back together -- Hermann breathes out against the top of Newt's head and holds tight. A notion begins to form in his head, something that's really been there all along, but circumstances haven't allowed it until now. This notion, it would change everything for them, and once decided, the course could not be shifted. But if their latest gambit fails, Hermann will do it. He'll shoulder more of the burden, take more of the responsibility for what's happened, and that means making sacrifices.

Because he'll sacrifice everything else, except Newt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to AK for the Chinese translation help <3


	51. Set You Free: Chapter 31

The move is uneventful. No hurried car chases, no blaring sirens, no roadblocks or surprise ambushes. When it's dark, Hermann and Newt get into a black sedan with tinted windows, driver silent and taking no interest in her passengers as she pulls away from the safe house, the man sitting shotgun also quiet. The car behind them travels the same path, but the driver never indicates distress, so Newt assumes it's probably one of Hannibal's crew, following in case anything happens. But again, nothing does.

The drive takes them from the more developed, sprawling cityscape around the shoreline further inland, until the sea disappears, and fields spring up. Newt watches torrents of water rolling down the buildings, the edges of the roadways, the windows of their car. He's always liked rain, and the glowing neon hues of Hong Kong lit up by rainstorms were especially pretty. Up north, there's less of the neon, and more nature. Still plenty of light, but not the overpowering, artificial glow of urbanized excess.

The house they pull up in front of is one that is indistinguishable from the ones that sit beside it. The shotgun passenger opens their door with an umbrella already held aloft, and Newt heaves himself out and looks around.

"Where are we?" he asks.

"I believe somewhere near, or perhaps a part of Fanling," Hermann replies as he steps out behind Newt. "He wasn't joking about taking us north."

"I wasn't." Hannibal is standing under the awning of the house, another lolly pressed between his lips. "I don't control this territory, but I own a few buildings. My people are down the street if you need them, but posting a guard is suspicious in a rural area, so no one will be outside your door. That doesn't mean you get to screw around. I expect you to keep your heads down and stay inside, but now you're above ground instead of under. Keep the curtains drawn on the first floor and don't get too close to the windows on the second. Got it?"

If Newt didn't know the guy better, he'd suspect Hannibal had chosen a place knowing that Newt had stared at steel walls and no sunlight for the past few months. Almost as if he was being... nice. Again. Like he felt he owed Newt something. Even though he'd told Newt he didn't.

Newt's not stupid enough to ask about it. This is one truth he's perfectly fine not understanding.

One of the medical team has joined them, and they inspect Hermann's stitches to see how they're holding up while Newt explores the house. It's like the last place, except the bedrooms have migrated up to the second floor with a small bathroom. There's a small plot of land in the back that seems to be growing plants; he wonders if someone gardens here to keep up appearances of continuous living, or if someone really does live here normally but is willing to leave for a few days whenever Hannibal needs to use it. He hopes it's the latter; the view out the back bedroom window is all fields and skyline, and to not be appreciated all the time would be a waste.

After that, there's more waiting. Endless hours of nothing to do but peruse a variety of streaming services, read one of the dozen physical books resting on a small bookcase in the corner of the living room, search for snacks in the kitchen cabinets and stare out into the rain.

They try to go to bed, but they're both far too nervous to feel tired, so they end up touching each other gently, carefully, wary of Hermann's arm, quietly bringing each other off and then lying in a wordless afterglow. It's comfortable and calm, two things they've been sorely lacking. They lie together afterwards, Hermann's face tucked into Newt's shoulder, Hermann's fingers curled in Newt's own.

Newt watches Hermann breath in and out, eyes fluttered shut. He burns the image into his mind. He wants to remember this, because what if the video doesn't work? What if their efforts come to nothing? What if Mingxia's supposed trump card fails?

What if, what if… too many ‘what ifs,’ all leading to the same conclusion: What if their time has almost run out?

Still unable to sleep, they both return to the living room. Newt is pouring cereal into a bowl around one in the morning when Hannibal strides through the doorway, an envelope clutched in his hand.

"Mingxia?" Hermann asks, standing up from his seat at the table. Newt is frozen over the jug of milk, eyes locked to the envelope. He wants to move, to take it from Hannibal, but his body refuses to budge. Hannibal looks at Newt, then sighs and holds the envelope out to Hermann.

"Read it. Let me know what you plan on doing about whatever it says," Hannibal tells them. "Good news or bad, you're going to have to make some decisions in the next few days."

Hannibal leaves them with Newt still frozen, and Hermann staring at the envelope clutched in his fist.

The door shuts, and the room is quiet for a long, painful moment, dread creeping up their spines.

"Would you like to-" Hermann begins.

"No," Newt says, shaking his head. He puts down the milk and pushes the heels of his hands into the sockets of his eyes, bright spots bursting against the darkness. "Fuck. Just open it. Read it. I'm too nervous, I won't parse it."

"Of course you will," Hermann says gently, but Newt hears the sound of the envelope being ripped open, and paper shuffling together. His chest is tight, and he forces out the breaths, trying to count, trying to stay calm, even while he waits for Hermann to tell him whether he's a dead man.

There's silence for thirty seconds. Newt knows because he hears every tic of the clock on the wall, as loud as a gong, sharp as a spike. It's the longest thirty seconds of his life. It feels like millennia have passed before Hermann speaks.

"Newton." Newt snaps his head up. Hermann's mouth is tight, lines around his eyes strained, and he looks... exhausted.

"What is it?" Newt asks.

"I don't understand," Hermann says, eyes glancing back down to the paper. "She's saying that the warrant was granted and they searched Jefferson's office and home but found nothing incriminating. But she says we now have everything we need and should return." He looks back up. "It makes no sense. How can we have everything if they found _nothing_?"

"What?" Newt asks. "Here, give me that."

Newt reads the letter over, trying to see if Hermann misunderstood any of it, but it's as he said. Mingxia writes that the granted warrant to search Jefferson's premises turned up no evidence that he'd had anything to do with causing Newt's possession or Fudvi's mental state. And yet, she's written and underlined several times that "I have what I need, and we are going to win, so you need to come back." How does that make any sense?

"Why wouldn't she tell us what she has, if she's so bloody confident?" Hermann grouses. "She sounds utterly daft!"

"Paper can get stolen, Herms," Newt says. _Trump card_ , he thinks. "If she's got something else up her sleeve, she wouldn't want to write it down, especially if she thinks that Jefferson finding out could ruin it."

"This is ridiculous-" Hermann begins, and he goes off on a tangent about deceptive lawyers and how they've been fools, but Newt isn't paying attention. Hermann only seems to have read part of the letter, because there's more. Another complication, another problem, and Newt's breath catches in his throat.

_Oh god, no_ , he thinks.

"Hermann!" Newt yelps, stopping Hermann's tangent train from continuing to chug along. "I have to go back. I have to."

_Unfortunately_ , Mingxia writes, _with you on the run, I'm afraid the fury for your escape will fall solely on Rangers Pentecost and Reyes. Jefferson still has enough pull with the rest of the council to have convinced them that if you don't return before the trial date, Pentecost and Reyes will be court marshaled for aiding and abetting a war criminal's escape. So please, trust me, and show up to the court date. Everything will work out if you do. If you don't, Pentecost and Reyes are going to pay very dearly, and I do not see you as someone who is okay with that._

Hermann is pale when Newt finishes reading it aloud.

"You- we can't go back," Hermann says, desperation evident in his tone. "They'll kill you!"

"I can't let Jake and Jules take the fall for me, Hermann!" Newt says. "What do you expect me to do? Run away?"

"Yes!" Hermann yells. "Run away with me! For god's sake, Newton, I can't lose you again!"

"Hermann, I can't. I can't have more people get hurt because-"

"You know who'll get hurt if you go back? Me!"

"If we run, Hermann, that's it for both of us, not just me, you know that, right? You'll be a wanted man, your career will be over, everything you've ever worked for-"

"Then let it!" Hermann smacks his hand on the table. "Protecting you is more important."

Newt shakes his head. "You'll lose everything-"

"Newton, what don't you get about this?" Hermann snaps, leaning forward, eyes pleading. "If I lose you, then I _have_ lost everything!"

"That's the problem, Hermann!" Newt is done with this, so far past done. He swallows, pressing a hand to his face. "Right there! You, saying shit like that."

"What the hell's wrong with it, if it's true?"

"It's not though. It _can't_ be. That's no way to live a life! That's how you live if you've got nothing left! You know who lived like that? Me, dude! When I was possessed, when I had absolutely nothing, the only thing I had left was _you_."

"So, you expect me to just let you go?" Hermann asks. "You expect me to watch you die and carry on as I have been? Are you out of your mind?" His face switches from fury to despair from moment to moment, and Newt wants to climb over the table, cup his jaw, kiss him, pretend this isn't happening. Pretend their future isn't dissolving around two dry bowls of cereal and a warming jug of milk on a kitchen dinette.

But he's done pretending.

"You're asking me to let two innocent, earnest kids take the fall for all the shit I've caused," Newt says. "So, let's say we run. We find a little remote village somewhere with what, no technology? No access to world news? We hide inside for the next forty years and have our food delivered by mail and pray we're never found? And all the while, I'll be thinking about two more people who I failed. You think I'd be okay with that, huh? You think Mako would be okay with us fucking over her little brother like that!"

"Don't you bloody _dare_ bring her into this!" Hermann shouts. "Don't you dare drag her into-"

"I'm not dragging her into shit, Hermann!" Newt shouts right back. "I'm asking you a fucking question! Because the Mako I know would be disappointed as hell to see us run away from problems when we've always run towards them! The Mako I know dove headfirst into the fucking Anteverse, not knowing whether she'd make it back, because saving all of us was more important! The Mako I know always fought for the truth, even if it was hard, because it was the right thing to do! And we're just gonna belittle her legacy, forget what she stood for?"

Hermann jabs a finger out at him. "You cannot make your decisions based on some asinine presumed moral code you just came up with! Is that your new mantra, Newton? 'What Would Mako Mori Do?' That's your grand ethical philosophy?"

"Why the fuck not?" Newt snaps. He shoves up out of the seat, nearly knocking it over. "I'd say it's a pretty good one. Catchy, you could fit it on a bracelet, simple, easy to understand."

"Mako would want you to live, Newton! Please, listen to me." Hermann pushes himself up out of the chair, coming around to rest a hand on Newt's shoulder. "You're not thinking clearly about this."

"And you are?" Newt asks, glaring at him, yanking out from under Hermann's grip. "The only thing you're thinking about is me."

"Because you're what matters to me, you bloody twit!"

"But I'm not the only thing that _matters_ ," Newt says, sighing. "I need to take a walk. Think about this."

"We're not supposed to leave the house," Hermann reminds him, trying to step close again, but Newt twists away, doesn't want to see the hurt expression he knows Hermann is wearing. He heads for the back door of the abode.

"I do a lot of shit I'm not supposed to," Newt mutters. "I won't go far, promise. I just need some space."

He's outside before Hermann can say anything else.


	52. Set You Free: Chapter 32

Newt has been gone for twenty minutes. During this time, Hermann has constructed at least four scenarios in his head wherein Newt has not come back because something awful has happened to him. He has run through a list of arguments to convince Newt that he's right, they mustn't go back, they must ask Chau to give them passage somewhere, and if he asks for payment, well, Hermann hasn't ever wanted to be in debt to the leader of a criminal smuggling ring, but he hasn't wanted to do a lot of things he's been forced to.

He's circled the carpet of the living room a dozen times, and the rug is starting to show divot imprints where his cane presses. And still, Newt hasn't returned.

Hermann knows he's a stubborn bastard. Knows he's probably collecting himself, maybe even drawing it out a little, but damn him, Hermann is impatient, and scared, and seriously considering asking Hannibal Chau to assist Hermann in a second round of kidnapping, this time by Hermann, for Newt's own safety. It's alright if you are doing it to protect someone, isn't it?

_Do you know who believes such things, Hermann? Stalkers and serial killers_ , his brain helpfully reminds him. But bloody hell, what other choice does he have? Newt is the one arguing the moral high ground. It's going to get him killed. Why does he choose now, of all times, to not put his own interests first? Why can't he be selfish, why can't Hermann be allowed to be selfish, to keep him safe? For once, can't they choose themselves over everyone else? Damn the truth, damn the consequences. It'll all be forgotten, somewhere on the other side of the world, when they're together, no one to tear them apart anymore. No more Kaiju, no more Precursors, no more council or sociopaths like Jefferson and Finch...

But no more Illia. No more Hadiyya. No more Tendo, or Lambert, or the cadets.

And as for Jake and Juliet...

_What are you doing?_ Hermann thinks, groaning softly. _You know what's important._

If they need to damn it all, well, then damn it. All of it.

_(I think it's dead, yep, definitely dead.)_

Nothing matters except for Newt.

_(Always so impatient, aren't you, Hermann?)_

He has to ask himself, really, what's worth more? All of them, or Newt?

_(If you believe I'm letting the finest mathematician of this century martyr himself like a dumbass action hero, you've got another thing coming, Hermann. We don't leave anyone behind.)_

He can't get sentimental.

_(It's killing me that I can't do what you do for him. Don't let me down, Dr. Gottlieb.)_

He can't lose focus.

_(What happened to my brother? What happened to Fudvi?)_

No. No, it will be worth it. It has to be.

_(Call me Jake, alright?)_

Hermann bangs open the back door. The rain has stopped, and he digs his cane into the mud and strides past the garden, down the dirt path that leads to an open field, and a short distance across it, a wooded area. There's a lone figure sitting at the base of a tree, and as Hermann approaches, Newt looks up, watching Hermann struggle not to slip and slide and lose his balance.

"You never liked the rain," Newt says when Hermann reaches him, panting.

"You now see why?" Hermann replies, leaning back against the tree beside him. "Makes everything a bloody hazard. Have you been sitting here the whole while?"

Newt nods glumly, his knees pulled against his chest, his elbows resting atop them. "It's too dark to keep going into the woods, and I didn't have a light, and I wasn't about to go back and get one."

"So much for the walk, then." Hermann sighs, leaning his head back, looking up at the stars. Out here, there's a little less ambient light, and he can see a few dots winking above them. "Did you ever stargaze, as a child?"

"Yeah. We lived pretty rural until I went to MIT. I used to sit out in the summers and plot star charts. Probably a little rusty, but I bet if we could see 'em a little clearer, I could give you a good list."

"I'd like that," Hermann says, letting his hand fall low, brushing against Newt's shoulder. "I'd like to go stargazing with you."

"Yeah, well... I'd like to do a lot of things with you," Newt says, leaning his cheek against Hermann's hand. "But-"

"Tell me," Hermann interrupts him.

"Huh?"

"Tell me what you'd like us to do. Everything. I want to know it all."

"Everything? Like, everything, everything?"

"Yes." Hermann steps away, holding his hand out for Newt. "Come back and tell me all of it. Start from the beginning."

Newt stands up and takes his hand. "Well," he starts, seeming unsure, "I guess, if I do get to walk free, the first thing I'd like to do is go be by myself for, like, twenty-four hours. No people, no Precursors, just me and my own, untainted brain. No offense. I haven't really gotten to since this shit started."

"That's fine," Hermann says, as they walk back towards the house. "I can grant you that. What then?"

"Well, I'd like to take you on a real date, not that half-assed one we did in your bunk. Like, dressing up, flowers, fancy dinner, a movie. Go back to our place after and just make out, like it was the first time we'd done it."

"You said 'our place,' where would we live?"

"Hmmm, I guess we'd have to decide that, huh? Somewhere new, I think. Unless you'd like to go back to Berlin? That'd be new for me, at least."

Hermann lets Newt open the sliding door of the house when they reach it, stepping inside behind him. "Berlin could be lovely, if you're still bothering to learn some German."

" _Da, mein Schatz_ ," Newt says, smirking at him. "Besides, it’s a good excuse to keep you close, so you can translate for me."

"I'd be happy to," Hermann replies, sliding the door shut. He tugs Newt towards the stairwell, squeezing his hand as they climb. "What then? What would we do for income?"

"I'm assuming academia of some sort," Newt replies. "It's basically the only thing left, if we're throwing continued employment at the PPDC out the window, which, I have no problem with, considering how much we've gotten fucked around by them."

"You're not interested in assisting Jake's motley bunch with reopening the Breach?" Hermann asks. He reaches the top of the stair and flicks on the hall light. "You think our joint intelligence is better served lecturing uni students and grading papers?"

"Well, I guess we could help out, if they send me samples and let you calculate from our apartment," Newt replies. "We could paint a wall with that stuff that turns it into a chalkboard and you could go nuts. And we just won't mention to the landlord that I'll be bringing in hazardous biological substances. No need to void the lease."

Hermann leads them into the nearest bedroom, then turns to wrap his good arm around Newt's waist, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.

"What then?" Hermann murmurs. "Keep going. I want to know more."

Newt shivers and tips his head back, giving Hermann access to dot a line of kisses down his jaw and neck. "Well, so most of the time it'd be just me and you. I'd do the cooking, you could keep everything spotless since you're pedantic as shit about hygiene... ahh, right there... and then sometimes we'd have guests, I guess. Tendo and Ally could visit, Pentecost and Reyes can babysit all the brats and bring 'em, that'd be a hoot to see... ohh," Newt sighs, eyes fluttering shut. "Yeah. That'd be nice."

"A quiet life," Hermann says, tugging Newt backwards, then twisting them around. He nudges Newt back until his legs hit the mattress, and another nudge gets him to sit down on the bed. "Scoot up," Hermann orders, following him up to the headboard and straddling his hips. "What about pets, and I suppose, if you wanted... children?"

"Do _you_ want children?" Newt asks, frowning, his hands skirting the edges of Hermann's t-shirt. "Could you handle the chaos of a bunch of rugrats running around? 'Cause I figured I was enough chaos for you."

Hermann chuckles softly, leaning down, supporting himself on one arm. "I'd consider it, if I had a partner who desperately wanted them, and was willing to improve his self-control and discipline enough to properly care for them."

"So, then, not me," Newt says, grinning. "I mean, forty-five and forty-six aren't ancient, but... yeah. I think the closest I'm willing to get to parenthood is letting Ranger Namani ask me a thousand questions about Kaiju anatomy while her kiddy friends make fun of my skinny ties. I wouldn't mind a pet, though. Dog or cat, dealer's choice. I've always thought of you as more a cat guy, since they're clean and prissy, just like you."

"Perhaps we'll get you a dog as well," Hermann says, kissing Newt's forehead. "Unruly and attention-greedy creatures, just like you."

"Mmmm, yeah. Okay."

Hermann kisses his mouth next, keeping it occupied with slow, lazy kisses for the next few minutes, until Newt pulls back.

"What are we doing, Herms?" Newt asks. "What is this?"

"I need you to consider," Hermann says, "what this sort of future is worth to you."

"But we can't have this future _unless_  I go back," Newt says. "The future where we run isn't like that, it's all hiding in safehouses, peeking around corners, praying no one recognizes us. We'd never be able to relax and feel safe."

"I... I know," Hermann says, bowing his head. "I know this. It wouldn't be perfect. But it would buy us time. Mingxia or one of our friends could continue searching for the truth-"

"Jake and Jules can't," Newt reminds him. "They'd be stuck in a jail cell, because of us. Because of _me_."

"Newton. Newt," Hermann glances down at him. "What'll I do if you're gone? You're asking me to accept something vile, something cruel and unjust and it's not fair. It isn't fair to ask it of me."

"Hermann." Newt reaches up to cup his jaw. "I'm not asking you to accept this. I know you can't, you stubborn jackass." He sighs when Hermann presses his face into Newt's hand, craving the touch, wanting to memorize it for the lonely nights ahead. "I'm just... if I die, then I need you to keep living."

"I can't-"

"You can. You did it for ten years without me. You're strong, so fucking strong, dude."

"I'm strong?" Hermann gapes at him. "You survived eight years of brutal psychological torture, and you're insisting upon my internal fortitude?"

"You saved the world. _Twice_ ," Newt reminds him. "The second time, without me, just with that fucking genius brain of yours, a smart-ass pair of Jaeger pilots and a rocket you invented. That's fucking amazing, Hermann! That's cool as shit! People should worship the ground you walk on. So, yeah. You can survive. You can go on, because if I'm not there, the world may still need somebody to save it again. And you're the only guy I trust to do it."

"You're going back," Hermann says, barely above a whisper, like if he doesn't vocalize it too loudly, it won't be true. "Whatever I say, whatever argument I make... you're going."

Newt nods, slowly, like if he does it gently, it won't snap Hermann in two. Except that's impossible. Hermann crumples against Newt's chest, shuddering as Newt wraps his arms around Hermann.

"Shhh," Newt murmurs, "I've got you. I'm sorry. I'm gonna hurt you one more time and it might be the worst one yet."

Hermann says nothing, can say nothing, can't speak words through the miserable sobs that choke their way out of his throat. He feels broken, lost, helpless. Everything they've fought through, everything they've conquered, the small bit of peace they've found... and now Newt is planning on walking back into the lion's den. He's going to leave, just like before, except this time there will be no chance of him coming back. No hope left to drag Hermann forward through the years, believing that someday, they'll return to each other.

Newt will be gone. No hivemind to fight, no plot to uncover. Just a gravestone for Hermann to lean against, feeling the tattered ends of a drift bond that will never reconnect.

"God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Fuck," Newt says, stroking a hand down his back. "If it helps, I trust Mingxia. I know you don't, but, I do. I'm not doing this 'cause I have a death wish, or anything. I want the truth, and I don't want anybody else's life to get destroyed because of me. I'm gonna go back believing that we're gonna win this. All those things I want to do with you, we're gonna do 'em."

"You can't- can't possibly know that!" Hermann chokes out. "You've no idea whether you'll succeed!"

"I do," Newt says, far more confident than he should be. It's a quality that Hermann's dearly missed, much as he's loathe to admit it. "I told you before. We're gonna fight, and we're gonna win. Fortune favored us once, dude. It'll favor us again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying so hard guys, this is gonna be fully posted by the end of the year, I promise.


	53. Set You Free: Chapter 33

Night passes to morning. They both manage a few hours of sleep. Hermann wakes first, staying still and watching Newt's soft, relaxed breathing, eyelids twitching in REM-state.

Newt sleeps through rainstorms and alarm bells; Hermann has seen it up close now, but he was always banging on Newt's door when the emergency Kaiju attack sirens went off at 3 AM, until eventually Newt just told Hermann the numerical code to unlock his door and get him up. So he's seen Newt splayed in all sorts of awkward positions across his mattress, drooling into the pillow, one arm off the side, even once with a hand jammed down his boxers. Hermann's shriek was electric for that one. When they started sharing a bed, Hermann presumed that he would be fighting for every inch of space, but apparently Newt craves warmth and touch, because he's always wrapped around Hermann in some way, just like he is now.

Hermann manages to slowly extract himself from his partner's vice-like grip. He wanders down the stairs, stopping when he sees a large figure sitting at the dinette, thumbing through an honest-to-God actual newspaper, like it's 1996 or something.

"I didn't think they printed those anymore," Hermann says, padding across the floor to the electric kettle on the counter. He fills it with water and sets it to boil. "Everything's electronic nowadays."

"This isn't from this year, Doc," Chau says, sucking once again on a lolly; the edges of the stick stained blue. "Or even this decade. Genuine newsprint circa 2012. I like reading news from the good old days, before everything went to shit. Look, this woman wants advice on whether she should get a second cat to be pals with her first." Hannibal folds the paper, laying the article down for Hermann to see. "Can you remember caring about shit like that? Just get the fucking cat, lady. You want it and you're probably gonna be dead in a year anyway so live it up."

Hermann steps over, squinting down at the newsprint. "This is from San Francisco," Hermann says, noting the Chronicle's logo. "Were you from there?"

"I spent some time there, before K-Day. East coast boy with ambitions to make it big out West."

"Were you there when... erm, never mind." Hermann hears a snap as Hannibal bites down on the candy and decides that certain questions don't need asking. "It isn't as if people stopped living their lives after K-Day. The world changed, yes, but I'm sure there's another woman in another city wondering about another cat at this very moment."

"Maybe for other people," Hannibal says, shrugging and picking the paper back up. He snaps it open, hidden now behind a wall of newsprint. "You're gonna tell me you'd be the same person now if the Kaiju had never shown up?"

"No. Of course not."

"No. But I bet you'd still be hunched over a computer somewhere, fucking around with code. You still followed a similar course to what you would've. Not all of us had that luck. Some of us had to make choices about how to survive after our options disappeared."

The timer for the kettle goes off. Hermann finds a mug in the cabinet and some Darjeeling tea bags that look ancient, but they will do. He pours the water, pops the tea bag into the cup, splashes in some milk and plunks a spoon in to mix it all.

"What are you doing here?" Hermann asks, bringing the tea to the dinette and sitting down. "Not to be rude, but what did you expect to change in the..." he looks at the clock on the wall, "the six hours since you came bearing news?"

"I decide my next move in six minutes or less, Doc. Six hours and you don't have a plan yet?"

Hermann sighs, taking a sip of the tea. "Not a plan I particularly enjoy, but yes, Newton seems to think we do."

"I'm guessing you think it's a stupid one."

"Outrageously so."

"And I'm guessing he's not gonna listen to you."

"He never does. Well, alright, that's unfair. He occasionally pulls his entire cranium far enough out of his arse to hear what I'm saying, but apparently not when it comes to little things like his continued existence on this planet."

"Ah, a martyr complex." Hannibal snorts, flicking the paper to the next page. "You need me to drug him and ship him somewhere? I've got a cabin in the Northwestern Unites States that's about fifty miles from the nearest town. You keep the car keys on you and he's not making it anywhere far."

"I was considering it," Hermann says. He glances down into the teacup, swirling the liquid with the spoon. "How awful of a person must I be, do you suppose, to believe that another round of drugging and kidnapping would be the correct move?"

"You're asking the wrong person, Doc. I've kidnapped plenty of people, and not for the very nice reasons I'm sure you were thinking about."

"Yes, well, no context needed, thank you. It feels as if he trusts his bloody lawyer more than he does me." Hermann takes a deeper sip, washing the sour taste of sleep from his mouth.

Hannibal shrugs. "Or maybe he trusts you to trust him. Besides, he's got good instincts with Mingxia. If she says she'll get him off, then she'll get him off. Believe me, I have experience."

Hermann chokes on the tea.

"I'm- I'm sure you do!" Hermann replies, coughing up a lungful of Darjeeling. Hannibal tips the top edge of the paper down, staring at him through those damnable sunglasses. "Doesn't mean I feel comfortable with the prospect of him losing and facing a life of imprisonment or execution."

"Well, if it's the first one, you'll probably get conjugal visits by the time you're both sixty. So, you have that to look forward to."

"Fantastic," Hermann intones. "I suppose we should spend the next twenty-four hours in bed to try and make up for the next fifteen years apart." He sighs. "I never thanked you for taking us in. I still don't understand why, and far be it from me to question the generosity of notorious criminals, but you saved our lives, and I am forever grateful for that."

Hannibal shrugs. "You keep Geiszler out of any more trouble and we're even. That kid fucked up my first supply line, then doesn't even have the courtesy to open the second long enough for me to harvest some good shit. The next time you geniuses want to fuck with inter-dimensional portals, give me a heads up first so I can at least prep for some better collection methods."

"I'll keep that in mind," Hermann says. "And, well, this is presumptuous of me, but I have one more favor to ask of you." He draws a notepad out of the pocket of his bathrobe, flipping it open and handing it across. "I was hoping you might be able to get me a close approximation of what I've drawn there."

Hannibal looks at the paper. Then, shockingly enough, he lifts his sunglasses, revealing the jagged line of scar where his eye used to be, his one remaining eye squinting. "Really?"

"Yes," Hermann replies. "I would need it before we depart tomorrow."

"Hmmm," Hannibal says. He nods and pockets the notepad, sunglasses dropping back down. "Payment?"

"There's a watch in my quarters that my father bought me when I graduated my doctoral program. I despise the thing, but it's quite valuable. It's in a green shoe box in the back of my closet. I'm sure one of your minions should have no trouble swiping it. Or ask Ms. Xié to use some of her know how."

"It'll be enough to cover this?

"It's a rather simple design, Mr. Chau. We haven't the time for complexity."

"Yep, you don't." Hannibal nods at him. "Okay. You need to both be ready to go, tomorrow at eight am, sharp. Oh, and stay in the damn house, I saw the tracks outside. Tie Geiszler to the bed if you have to, I'm sure you crazy kids can figure out a way to have fun with that."

Hermann says nothing, sips more tea and watches Hannibal leave. He leans back into the chair, closing his eyes.

The Darjeeling is bitter on his tongue, maybe because it's old, maybe because his bitter feelings are affecting the flavor. No matter. It is tea, and he will drink it. He has never turned down a cup in his life, not even the awful dreck that the Shatterdome commissary claims is drinkable. It was always a treat when Newt came back from a trip off-base bearing a steaming cup from their favorite coffeehouse, or loose leaf from the shop you had to take two buses and a subway ride to get to. Hermann knows that nothing Newt ever wanted was by there, and yet several times a year, Hermann would come into the lab to find a package sitting on his desk with some sort of airy note, like _was in the area and figured you'd stop being such a crabass if you had some of the good stuff_.

When he finishes the cup, he goes back upstairs to the bedroom. He can hear water hissing through the tap in the bathroom, and when he opens the door, a wall of steam erupts against his face.

Newt pops his head out from behind the curtain. "Hey. Heard you talking to someone."

"Mr. Chau. I've let him know your plans. We'll be leaving tomorrow morning."

"Oh."

Hermann sits down on the toilet seat, resting his elbows on his knees. "So that's that, then."

He hears the sound of the tap turning off. Newt yanks the towel from the rod on the wall and wraps it around his waist, stepping out and squatting down in front of Hermann, clasping his hands.

"Thank you," Newt says.

"For what?"

"I kind of thought you were going to lie to him and try and get us shipped off to, like, Brazil or something. I pissed him off enough last time that he'd probably listen to you."

"I may not like your decision, but you've made it," Hermann says, sighing. "I just wish I'd had any say in the matter."

"It's fucked up, dude. It's all fucked up, no matter what decision I make. I'm just making the one that I can live with- don't. Don't say what you're about to."

Hermann scowls, glancing away. "What did you think I was going to say, Newton? Because you certainly aren't making the choice that guarantees you keep liv-"

Newt kisses him, cups his jaw and holds Hermann still, firm grip not breaking, even at the undignified whine Hermann lets out, to let it be known he doesn't appreciate this tactic. It's underhanded, it's derailing the topic at hand, and it certainly isn't helping his concentration when Newt slides into his lap, warm and damp and hair slicked back wetly, cradling Hermann's face and teasing Hermann's mouth with the barest of flicks of his tongue. Unfair, it's so unfair when Newt rolls his hips forward, and Hermann can feel Newt's cock pinned between their stomachs, already hard. The man might lose his whole life tomorrow and he's aroused and nipping at Hermann's lower lip, and his hands are finding their way down to undo the button on Hermann's jeans.

"You c-can't just distract me with sex," Hermann gasps, dropping his head back against the tiled wall when Newt sucks on a very sensitive point of his neck. "We need to talk about this."

"Talk later," Newt replies, yanking Hermann's zipper down and pulling back the fabric of his boxers to free Hermann's cock to the open air. "We've got twenty-four hours and I'm planning on riding your dick as often as physiologically possible."

"You were _listening_ ," Hermann says, smacking Newt's hands away from his prick. "And the only thing you took away from the conversation I had with that man was a joke about having a non-stop sex marathon?"

"Hermann." Newt grips his face again, looking directly into his eyes. "I don't know whether I'm going to be with you again after tomorrow. For all that I believe in Mingxia's ability to pull a _deus ex machina_  out of her ass, I'm still fucking terrified, okay? So, if it all goes belly up, I want to remember today as a good day, no, fuck it, I want it to be the best damn day. That means you, me, a bed, occasionally getting up to get food or piss, but mostly us being together and taking advantage of what two individuals who have been sexually repressing their feelings for two decades are capable of."

Hermann blinks, and slowly nods. "I see. Anything in particular you'd like to try?"

Newt smiles. "Remember all those fantasies I told you about that one time?"

"I don't believe we're going to find a Jaeger to shag inside of."

"It was less the Jaeger part and more the 'bending you over, eating you out and then fucking you' part, dude."

"Ah. I see." Hermann does see, and his cock certainly likes what it sees. "I would be amenable to that."

"Good," Newt smirks, reaching out to open the top drawer of the bathroom vanity. He pulls out a small clear bottle with a purple cap. Bastard, he planned this. "First, I'm going to ride you, right here. Then I'm going to take you into that bedroom and make you see so many stars you'll think we really did go stargazing." He pops the lid of the cap with one hand, grabbing Hermann's wrist with the other and pulling his hand up to drizzle the lubricant onto. "So. Are you going to keep trying to have a really fucking depressing conversation with a lapful of horny Newton Geiszler? Or are you going to make the smart choice and shove your fingers inside of me?"

"Vulgar," Hermann croons. But it'd be a shame to waste all this lubricant, and any attempt at conversation right now would be... _hard_. 

So, Hermann reaches around behind Newt and chooses the second option.


	54. Chapter 54

**20 Hours To Departure**

"I want to meet your siblings."

Hermann lifts his head from where it's resting on Newt's naked thigh, one cowlicked lock of hair sticking up at the back of his head.

"My siblings?" he asks.

Newt nods, brushing down the hair, then trailing the hand farther down to thumb circles across Hermann's bare chest.

"Yeah," Newt says. "I never got to, back before. Not like we were in the position where you'd be bringing me home to meet your family."

Hermann rolls onto his stomach, pressing a kiss to the curve of Newt's bare hip. "You would get along well with each of them for different reasons. Dietrich is a marine biologist, Karla spent quite a number of years in the 90s punk scene, and Bastien often produces artwork for tattoo artists."

"How the hell are you related to so many cool people?" Newt says, smirking when Hermann gives him a playful nip. "Your mom must've been badass."

"She was an extraordinary woman," Hermann replies, sliding up to rest against Newt's side. "Smart, funny, and she would brook no nonsense. But she was kind in the ways she needed to be. That she ended up with my father is an eternal mystery."

"Maybe your dad was just less of a hardass when he was younger. You'd better not get crotchetier as you age, you're bad enough as it is."

"And you have thankfully become slightly less juvenile now that you're pushing fifty."

"God, don't remind me. Can't we go back to when we were twenty-two and giant monsters weren't destroying the planet and my knees didn't ache every morning?"

"I far prefer maturity," Hermann says, nibbling on Newt's earlobe. "No one assumes that I'm too young to really know what I'm on about anymore. And I'm far less likely to put up with nonsense."

"You've got a backbone now." Newt nudges him down onto his back, straddling his hips, smiling. "You don't take shit anymore. If the Marshall was still alive to yell at you, you would yell right back."

"You may be exaggerating, _oh..._ " Hermann arches back, Newt's tongue drawing a trail down his throat. "But I admit, I've gained a bit of that Geiszlerian confidence that always drove me batty. Well, are you going to keep going in that direction? We haven't got all day."

Newt chuckles, sliding downwards. "I'm getting a demonstration as we speak."

~

**17 Hours To Departure**

"-and he only wore bowties after that. To this day, I have never seen the man in a regular tie. Have you?" Newt sits on the toilet lid, leaning back against the tank.

"Certainly not," Hermann says. He stares at himself in the bathroom mirror, brushing a hand over his chin, feeling the stubble peeking through after forty-eight hours without a good shave. "What did Allison think of that?

"Oh, she was fucking dying in the back of the cab, man. I think she would've let the driver go another half mile with Tendo's tie caught in the door if they hadn't been about to get on the highway. She's the one who told me that story."

"Truly, that must be true love, if seeing him running alongside the car like a leashed animal didn't destroy all her respect for him."

"What can I say? The man can rock a pompadour like no other."

"Should I be concerned? Shall I start slicking my hair back like an over-eager Elvis impersonator?"

"Oh fuck, wait, I wanna see that." Newt jumps up, yanking open the medicine cabinet. There's a small jar of hair mousse, and Hermann relents and lets Newt scoop far too much mousse into his hand, threading his fingers through Hermann's hair and pushing it back, working the gel through the locks, and when he pulls his hands back he presses them over his mouth. "Fuck, oh my god, look at yourself."

Hermann glances to the mirror and immediately cackles. He looks utterly _ridiculous_ , it isn't as if his hair is shaped properly to form a proper pompadour, and the locks stick up and out everywhere, more ‘mad scientist’ than ‘suave ladies' man.’

Newt giggles and reaches up, pushing Hermann's hair back down to something more reasonable, if still quite awful looking. "You should try it shorter. I'm taking you to a decent goddamn barber. You go to the cheapest fucking shop in the city, don't you?"

Hermann shrugs. "It's never really mattered to me before. I haven't been trying to impress anyone."

Newt smiles, wrapping his arms around Hermann's neck. "Did you like me looking all clean-shaven and polished up?"

"Heavens no. It's completely foreign to your personality. You're much better looking when you're a bit scruffy. Besides, it's how you were when... when I knew. I've fond memories associated with disheveled, unkempt Newton."

"Maybe you should try an undercut again," Newt says, kissing him. "Although I really like having all this hair to hang onto when I'm fucking you."

"Mmmm... care for a demonstration?"

"Already halfway there."

~

**13 Hours To Departure**

"Man, I really wish I had my guitar right now."

Hermann hums an agreement, running one hand through Newt's hair, the other clutching a book, half-focused on its pages. They're on the couch, Newt's head resting in his lap, Hermann pretending he cares about the shoddily-written romance and on the same scene for the last fifteen minutes. Outside, the rain is a gentle tap against the windows.

"I mean it, Herms. If I had my guitar, I'd be banging out the classics, taking any requests you want. Your own private concert, courtesy of one Newton Geiszler, rock star extraordinaire and former lead singer and guitarist of Hong Kong's hottest punk rock band."

"You certainly have the ego for a lead singer," Hermann muses. "Though your vocal talents were choppy on the first EP, thank god you hired a vocal coach between your first and second albums."

There's a gasp and Hermann freezes his motions. _Oh, bloody hell._

" _You_ _listened to my albums_?" Newt shrieks, shooting up. "Are you fucking- you told me you'd never 'destroy your hearing' with my 'awful dreck I claimed was music,' you asshole! You fucking asshole!"

"I was curious!" Hermann snaps, going red, shutting the book and folding his arms. "You seemed unnecessarily proud of your musical accomplishments. I thought it pertinent to understanding you better."

"And?"

"And... they were not entirely awful. The quieter tracks were half-way enjoyable. You're quite talented on acoustic, you might've managed an actual career if you had chosen to focus solely on that."

"Acoustic can't beat the energy of blaring on an electric Fender while a crowd of twenty-somethings screams your name, dude. So, you were a Newton Geiszler groupie after all." Newt grins and crawls up to straddle Hermann's knees, hands resting on the couch on either side of his hips. "You ever fantasize about banging a rock star, baby?"

"Certainly. Have you seen one around here?" Hermann shoots back.

"Hey, rude. Maybe if you're nice, you'll get to come back to my trailer and touch my famous instrument."

Hermann rolls his eyes. "I should've never told you. I'm going to regret this."

"Oh, come on. You know how lucky you are to get plucked out of the crowd to join me for the evening? Everybody's jealous of you, babe. They all wish they were where you are right now." Newt waggles his eyebrows to emphasize the point.

Hermann can't help but giggle a bit. Setting aside the book, he slides his hands down Newt's shoulders, clutching at his chest just under his armpits. "Do you accost all the men at your concerts who look as if they shouldn't be there, Mr. Geiszler?"

Newt grins, getting into the scene. "Only the cute ones. What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Hermann," he replies. "And I've never done this before. Gone off with a band member, I mean. I'm quite nervous."

"Relax, baby," Newt mutters, kissing him, pushing him down against the couch cushions. "Let me show you a good time. I promise, my whammy bar makes all the girls and boys scream."

"Dear _Lord_ , that was terrible, Newton," Hermann mumbles. But he shuts up rather quick.

~

**9 Hours To Departure**

"Hermann? Hermann, wake up. Come on, wake up."

"Wha- oh. Oh, I'm... sorry."

"Hey, it's okay. Breathe, babe. You were shaking pretty badly."

"Yes. I apologize, I dozed off during the movie."

"We barely slept the last two days, it's fine, dude. Besides, we've watched this, what, a thousand times by now? I can basically quote what you missed back to you if you'd like."

"No, that's alright. Would you rewind to the picnic scene with Vizzini? I do enjoy watching Wesley outsmart him."

"Sure. You wanna tell me what the nightmare was about?"

"I never said it was-"

"You didn't have to."

"It's rather easy to guess, if you had a mind to."

"I assume it had to do with my being found guilty and your having to watch me-"

"Yes."

"Hermann?"

"Yes?"

"I love you. I'm sorry."

"I know, _mein Schatz_. I know."

~

**4 Hours to Departure**

Hermann rouses to the sound of Newton behind his head, humming softly against his hair.

"You're awake," Hermann mumbles, turning over to face him.

"Couldn't sleep," Newt admits.

"You're going to be exhausted tomorrow," Hermann says, cupping Newt's cheek. "You should try to rest."

"I only have a few more hours with you. What if it's the last time?"

"I thought you said you were confident in Mingxia."

"Doesn't mean I'm not scared out of my fucking mind, man," Newt says. "It's hard to feel good about doing what's right when you're scared shitless."

"It will be..." No. Hermann can't say it will be alright, because he's got no idea of that. It could all burn around them, but this is the path they're on now. "I'll be there, all of the way. I promise."

"I can't make you watch me die, Hermann," Newt says. His eyes are pinched tight, his mouth pressed to Hermann's palm. "I don't want to hurt you like that. Fuck. _Fuck._  Why can't I just be the kind of guy that doesn't give a shit about anyone else but himself? I'd be halfway across the world with you by now."

"You wouldn't be the man I love if you were like that," Hermann reminds him. "I confess, I've always admired your bravery. I never thought you were afraid of anything, not how people saw you, not the Kaiju, not the dangers of your chosen profession, and when the Marshall sent you to the Boneslums to meet a black market dealer? You didn't bat an eye. You were a wonder."

"Brave? Dude, I was terrified!" Newt admits. "Besides, you dove into a hivemind possessed mind without any protection or guarantee that you wouldn't be ripped apart as soon as your neural handshake stabilized. That's pretty fucking ballsy. You're the brave one. I just did my fucking job."

"Agree to disagree," Hermann says. He tugs Newt against his chest, burying his face in Newt's hair, breathing in. What a lovely scent, so calming and familiar. Will he remember this years from now, arms empty, cold and alone? Will he remember what Newt felt like? Or will it all disappear, distorted to something unrecognizable?

Newt is humming again.

"What is that?" Hermann mumbles. "It's familiar."

"Maybe. I used to sing to myself in the lab, late nights when I thought you were asleep."

"I wasn't always... I liked it. Your voice is-"

"Squeaky, yeah, I know. I got the vocal coach for a reason."

"Actually, I was going to say, it gets all scratchy and pleasingly soft when you're not bellowing out. Could I hear it?"

He waits. Then...

" _[If I should go before you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fbStWiWDCEI)_ ," Newt sings, low and mouth pressed to Hermann's ear. " _When that long night comes, we'll meet in the ever after. Please don't follow me into the sun_."

Hermann shivers, swallowing down a watery breath. "Gods... Newt. Oh."

" _If you should cross the white light, and find yourself in the black_ ," Newt continues. His own breathing has sped up, and his grip around Hermann's waist is tighter. " _I'll be right there behind you. You will have no need to look back_."

It feels like an ending. It feels like the moment before the rocket exploded, as Hermann watched the MegaKaiju crawl towards the precipice of Mt. Fuji. Like time was frozen, and when it unstuck, the world would be over. Eight billion people, and he and Newt are just a speck of dust on a ball spinning millions of miles an hour, no more or less important than any other speck of dust. And yet this feels like some cruel, unjust trick of the universe, though he knows there is no force out there but the pure chaos of empty space.

Nothing else is important in this moment, just this room, this bed, and this man who showed him what's worth fighting for.

Newt sings for him, and Hermann lets the words curl around his brain, sinking in and making themselves a law of his universe.

" _And when the night cries itself awake, dying in the light of day, our endless love will remain, until we meet again._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from "If I Should Go Before You" by City and Color.
> 
> Eight chapters left. We're in the home stretch.


	55. Set You Free: Chapter 35

Eight am. Showtime.

Mingxia arrived half an hour ago with a new suit for Newt. It’s the exact same as the last one, and she admonishes him to "try not to get kidnapped and ruin your clothes again, Dr. Geiszler," as if it's really going to matter in a few hours. She seemed pretty breezy and confident when she walked into the house, Hannibal trailing behind her a little too closely for someone who's just a business partner. Hermann and Hannibal had looked at each other as Mingxia dragged Newt into the bedroom to change and what was that all about?

"So, trump card?" Newt asks as Mingxia fixes his tie. Once again, he’s too nervous to work the knot correctly.

"You inadvertently provided exactly what was needed," Mingxia replies, tugging on the knot. "However, there’s a catch. I've discussed it with your benefactor, and we've come to the decision that the evidence we have will require us to make a play we were hoping to avoid."

"And do I get to meet this mysterious benefactor after the trial?" Newt snarks. "Or does that depend on if we win or lose?"

"We will win, Newt," Mingxia chides. "And I have every confidence that you will understand everything that has occurred by the end of this day."

"Miracles can happen, I guess," Newt says, shrugging. "I'm tired of all the secrets, Ming. Really, what's a guy gotta do to get some answers as to how an outer-dimensional alien menace got jammed into his cerebral cortex? And what's up with you and Chau out there? Is he my mystery benefactor? Does he secretly harbor unreleased guilt over all our shenanigans from ten years ago? He did slice me up the nostril, and that hurt like a motherfucker. Is this, like, penance before he dies? Oh, shit, did he get irradiated from all the Kaiju shit he's been-"

"Dr. Geizler," Mingxia interrupts, her mouth flexing barely upwards in the briefest hints of a repressed smile. "Mr. Chau is not your benefactor. Does that help ease your concerns?"

"Fuck no!"

"Well, you can either continue to question me and get absolutely nowhere, or we can hurry along and get you your well-deserved freedom. Your choice, of course."

Newt grumbles something about 'smart-ass lawyers' and stalks back out into the living room. Hannibal is smoking a cigar at the dinette, reading another one of his ridiculous pre-War newspapers. Hermann is seated on the couch, also dressed in the same kind of suit he’d worn at the pre-trial, his arm tucked comfortably in its sling.

"Listen to me carefully," Mingxia says as Hermann stands to move beside Newt. Hermann’s a bit shiny with sweat, and his hand is trembling on his cane. Newt sends him a concerned prod across the drift bond. Is something hurting? His hip? His arm? Hermann glances at him and shakes his head, trying for a smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He's nervous about the trial, that has to be it. "You need to do exactly as I say, the both of you," she continues, as Newt rests his hand atop Hermann’s on the cane. "I've told the court that new evidence has come to light that will make a prolonged trial entirely unnecessary. Usually, once the pre-trial hearing has gone through, we would not get another chance, but your video and the accusations against one of the council members seems to have been enough that we are going to be allowed to present this evidence at a secondary prelim."

"So, it's not a trial?" Hermann asks, visibly sagging with relief. "Oh, thank god."

"It could still go to one, though," Newt pipes up. "I'm just saying."

"It will not," Mingxia replies. "When you are both in that courtroom, I need you both to be silent. No questions, no calling out. Anything you want to know can be sorted out afterwards. Understand?"

"What the hell did you show them, Ming?" Newt asks.

She smiles. "You'll see very soon. Now then, let's be off."

"Take it easy, Geiszler, Gottlieb," Hannibal calls without looking away from his paper. "Geiszler, you steal a bike from one of my crew again, I'll take your nose clean off. Got it?"

"See you hopefully never again, Chau," Newt replies, slipping his arm around Hermann's waist and tugging him towards the door. "But if you've got any good Kaiju parts from the big triple dude, let me know."

"We're about to go to a criminal hearing and you're requesting contraband parts? Really, Newton?" Hermann grumbles as they move towards the door.

"Science waits for no man, or the laws of man," Newt says, cheerily, and shuts the door behind them.

There is a town car waiting for them outside the door, likely driven by one of Hannibal's lackeys. Newt and Hermann sit beside one another in the car, silently, hands gripped together, anxiety and anticipation thrumming between them like a guitar string. The journey the car takes isn't far, ending in an open field. Newt hears rotor blades spinning in the distance.

"Uh, I thought we were going back to the Shatterdome?" Newt asks.

Mingxia shakes her head. "I've arranged transport. We are taking no chances with JACRO having custody of you again, even for a few hours. We're taking a helicopter to the airport, and then a private plane to the Hague."

Newt grins, and the internal mini-capitalist whose missed his disgustingly large paycheck and lavish ways of spending it starts doing cartwheels. "Please tell me there's complimentary booze on this flight."

Hermann sighs good-naturedly beside him and pats his knee. "If there is, you'll be partaking of absolutely none of it before the trial."

"Aww, Hermann, come on, didn't they used to let dying men get shitfaced before- ow! I'm joking, I'm joking! Jesus Christ, it's my damage, let me crack jokes about it."

"Crack as many as you'd like, _after_  the hearing."

The helicopter ride is as noisy and unpleasant as any of the several dozen he's taken in and out of various PPDC Shatterdomes, but the private plane is truly private: a large, spacious cabin for just the three of them to spread out. Once they reach travel altitude, Mingxia claims the small table to do some typing, while Newt sits on the couch and stares out the window to the ground below, watching as they cross mountains and valleys, modern flight speeds making the trip half as long as it might've been twenty years ago.

He's lost in thought two hours in when Hermann sits down beside him, shifting nervously.

"You okay?" Newt asks, dropping a hand to Hermann's knee. He's had to make a concerted effort to keep his hands off Hermann's shoulder, to avoid tugging him in or manhandling him in ways that would cause him any pain. So, knees are generally safe.

"I- I need you to understand something," Hermann says, resting his free hand in his lap. "Whether or not Ms. Xié is correct in her claim as to your being acquitted, I am not going anywhere."

"Yeah, dude, we kinda established that." God, Hermann is practically leaking anxiety, what the hell? Does he get flight sick? Newt never remembered him having a particularly queasy stomach for air travel, but maybe ten years on... "You're not gonna drop me like a hot potato if the trial goes belly up."

"Yes," Hermann says, nodding. "I will be with you in whatever capacity I'm able to. If you are incarcerated for life, I will visit you every moment they let me. If you are... sentenced worse than that, I will still be there. I hope it doesn't come to either of those things, but if it does, well, actions speak louder than words, do they not?"

Hermann's hand balls into a fist, and Newt reaches out to take it, raising it up to his lips and kissing it. "What's going on?" Newt asks when he lowers it back down. "What actions?"

Hermann sighs. "I could say that what I'm about to do is entirely based on logical outcomes and the necessity for us to have some legal protections. After all, any sort of regular visitation may be predicated upon documentation, and any worry we have about my having to testify against you would no longer exist." He tugs his hand away and digs it into his suit pocket, which Newt now notices contains a decidedly square looking lump. "Truthfully however, this is entirely based on my own selfish want to make you understand my commitment to you, protections or no."

Newt's breath catches in his throat. _Oh my god_. "H-Hermann? Fuck, dude, you're, you're not..."

Hermann draws the lump out, the velvet box a grenade in his hand, and with a practiced motion, almost like he's been preparing to have to do this one handed, flicks the lid upwards, snapping it open.

Two golden bands lie cushioned in the slotted silk.

" _Heirate mich, mein Schatz_ ," Hermann says.

" _Fuck_ ," Newt gasps, dragging his hands through his hair, mussing the locks horribly. But he doesn’t care about that, because Hermann looks terrified, the sweat and trembling hands now making sense. This is the man who faced down the Anteverse for him, and this is what he’s afraid of? What does he expect? That Newt will take it the wrong way? Reject him, laugh at him, tell him it’s too fast, too much?

Well, fuck that.

Newt lets out a whoosh of air, remembering to breathe. "Dude, you mean it?"

Hermann scowls and snaps with an anxious tone. "Would I have gotten the bloody rings otherwise, you imbecile?"

Newt grins. "Can't even propose without calling me names, Hermann dearest?"

Hermann blushes and looks properly chastised. "I- ah, oh. I apologize."

"It's fine," Newt says, waving his hand. "You're an ass when you're panicking, I'm used to it. The answer is yes, by the way. Abso-fucking-lutely yes."

"Really?" Hermann says, his mouth spreading into a delighted smile. "By jove, for a second there I thought you'd laugh me off. It's only been a little over a month."

Newt snorts. "Hermann, this has been a two-decade plus relationship. Just 'cause we added sex and cuddling, doesn't mean the time before wasn't important."

"Quite right." Hermann holds out the ring box. "I can't be certain how long we'll have, so I might have jumped the gun right to the wedding rings."

"Psssh, the diamond engagement ring industry is a scam, anyway,” Newt says. “Sometimes, simple is nice."

"I had an engraving made on the inside," Hermann says, as Newt plucks the slightly larger ring out of the box and brings it up to his eyes, squinting to read the bold lettering inside the band, that says:

DRIFT COMPATIBILITY VERIFIED JUNE 23, 2025

Newt laughs brightly, grabbing Hermann by the tie and tugging him gently closer to kiss him, because he's just perfect, this stuffy, buttoned-down-stickler-for-rules stereotype who is really anything but that, who can read Newt like he's the fucking Rosetta stone, who's got a wicked wit and a fierce sense of loyalty, who loved him so much that a billion teeming, swarming minds couldn't stop that love from bringing him out of the dark.

"Hermann Geiszler," Newt mumbles softly, forehead pressed to Hermann's, eyes soft with affection. "Or Newton Gottlieb? We could hyphenate, I guess."

"We'll discuss it later," Hermann replies, reaching up to cup Newt's cheek. "Come what may, _mein_   _Schatz_ , I promise."

When the plane touches down on the tarmac, Newt steps out into a blazing, sunny day, clouds puffy in the sky. He flashes back to that newly re-emerged memory when he stepped off the transport to LA for the first time, meeting the team for the A.L.I.C.E. project. Instead of five excited scientists, ready to change the world, there is a huddle of familiar faces.

"Uncle!" Newt yelps, taking the steps two at a time and meeting him halfway to the group, wrapping his arms around Illia in a familial embrace.

"You're okay," Illia mutters, squeezing Newt as tightly as he can, which due to advancing age, is far less tight than the big bear hugs his uncle used to wrap him up in.

"Yeah, well, apparently I don't take to kidnapping." Newt gives Illia a reassuring smile as he pulls back. "And Hermann doesn't take kindly to people kidnapping me, intellectually or physically."

Agent Tanaka stands passively behind Illia, and next to him are a relieved looking Tendo, Lambert, Pentecost and Reyes.

"Knew you wouldn't let us down," Jake says, grinning madly. "This face is too pretty for prison, ask anybody."

Reyes rolls her eyes but looks cheery. "Keep telling yourself that, Jake. Good to see you both alive and well, Hermann, Newt."

Lambert nods to Newt, arms folded, serious as always, but no ill will or resentment behind them. "Thank you for coming back, Dr. Geiszler. It would've made things... awkward, if you hadn't." Newt sees the look Jake gives Lambert, and he smirks to himself, because he recognizes that amused fondness. Something's changed between them; it crackles in the air.

Tendo looks like he wants to join the hug party, so Newt motions him over and smacks him on the back, laughing as Tendo flicks him in the forehead. "You gotta stop getting yourself into these situations, Geiszler," Tendo says. "If only so you don't make Hermann go prematurely grey."

"I think he'd actually look pretty hot as a salt and pepper dude," Newt ponders, glancing back at Hermann, who comes up to stand beside him, taking his hand. "Do you dye your roots? I never asked."

"Mmmm, no, my genetics are clearly in my favor," Hermann quips, then reaches out and tugs gently on the bit of scruff Newt has grown out, the grey and white hairs clearly visible. "You, however..."

Newt swats his hand away, snorting. "You definitely find this hot, don't lie to me. I've seen your porn habits."

Mingxia clears her throat as Hermann turns bright red. "Half of my billable hours are spent listening to both of you talk in sexual innuendo. Please, can we depart?"

The streets are just as crowded as last time, perhaps even more so, but this time, Hermann insists that they all take the same vehicle, sitting Newt in the middle between everyone else, the others blocking Newt's view outside. Not that he'll look this time, not after everything they’ve been through, after realizing that maybe Hermann is right, maybe he doesn't have to keep hating himself. It's been the easy path for the longest time, the simplest way to accept the truth. What will be harder is knowing that things outside his control caused all of this to happen. That is, if that's the truth of it. Finch's words about Fudvi still ring in the back of Newt's mind. The edges of his memories drag like tattered fabric, like something ripped away, waiting to be stitched back in.

When they enter the judicial building, there are a dozen JACRO officers waiting for them, Jefferson at the head, blocking their path.

"Step aside, councilor," Mingxia says, walking up to him, face calm, smooth as glass, as implacable as a mountain that will not be moved, not even by a hot-headed explosive, if Finch is anything like his boss.

"That man needs to be taken into custody," Jefferson says, pointing at Newt. Hermann shifts perceptibly, slipping a bit in front of Newt, as if to protect him, still so protective. "He's already eloped once."

"That's a matter for the judges to decide," Mingxia reminds him. "Move your officers, or does the rest of the council need to know that you're taking extra-judicial matters into your own hands again?"

"Finch is a liar," Jefferson drawls, shrugging. "I made a mistake, can't convict me for choosing one bad apple. At least my psychopath tried to off one nearly-convicted war criminal, not the entire planet."

Jefferson meets Newt's gaze.  _He's baiting me_ , Newt thinks, taking a deep breath and looking down, focusing on the glint of the ring newly wrapped around his finger. _Fuck you, dude. I'm not giving anybody the opportunity to call me crazy ever again._

"If you would," Mingxia says, folding her arms. "We are going to be late for the hearing."

Jefferson scowls, fists tight, looking liable to lunge forward and sock Mingxia right in the jaw. There’s rage in his eyes, but also the slightest glint of fear, and Newt realizes he’s uncertain, maybe for the first time, that he’s going to win. Jefferson doesn’t know what Mingxia has up her sleeve, and it scares him. In contrast, Mingxia looks completely composed, and frankly, bored. Nothing yet has fazed her, and maybe nothing ever will.

_God, she’s amazing_ , Newt thinks. _I want to kiss whoever hired her._ Platonically, of course. Can’t have his new fiancé getting jealous.

In the end, Jefferson says nothing. He motions to the guards, and allows them to pass by, glaring at them as they move on.

They press on into the courtroom, where journalists, photographers, and other important officials have filed in, all eyes turning to Newt when his group enters. Newt swallows, glancing at Hermann, who gives him an encouraging smile, squeezing his hand.

"I'll be right behind you," Hermann mutters. His thumbs slides against the ring he just gave Newt, and he looks like he wants to raise that hand, press a kiss to it, but maybe giving a room full of media an opportunity to take photos for the gossip rags isn't the best idea.

"Herms..." Newt glances to Mingxia, who is holding the gallery door open to allow him passage to the front of the room. He looks back, and smiles. "I'm gonna walk out that door a free man with you today. That's a Geiszler guarantee."

Hermann laughs, a fond look in his eyes. "I'll hold you to it, _mein Schatz_."

When Newt takes a seat behind the defense table, Mingxia rests a hand on his arm.

"Remember," she says. "You mustn't disrupt the proceedings. If you remember anything, keep it to yourself until the hearing is over. You can ask questions afterwards. I will explain anything you want, I've been given leave."

"Thanks," Newt says, swallowing and nodding. "You're saving my life here, Ming."

Mingxia smiles. "I simply found what was needed. This is certainly not the hardest case I've ever argued."

"You've gotta be fucking joking me."

"I am not."

The judges file in, and Newt stands, watching them with a focus he hadn't had last time. These nine men and women hold his life in their hands, and at the first hearing, he hadn't felt any hope. But today? Today he meets their eyes, today he needs them to know that he's not giving up without a fight.

"Your honors," the prosecution cuts in, as soon as the judges sit. "The defense claims that they hold evidence that will exonerate Dr. Geiszler, but they have yet to present the evidence to the court. And yet we are having another hearing?"

"A request of a councilor, counsel," one of the older judges says, folding her hands in front of her. "He explained that the evidence came to light after the first hearing, and the seriousness of his accusations against another councilor merit this hearing. That is why we have requested the entirety of the council be present today."

Newt bristles, eyes widening. _Who the hell said what now?_

"And yet there is one particular councilor who does not seem to be present," the prosecution says. "Would the defense have any idea of where he might be?"

"Apologies, he's running about five minutes late," Mingxia says. "We were concerned about attempts to sabotage the evidence you'll be presented with, so I took some alternative means to ensure his security."

Newt turns around with the rest of the room when the large doors of the chamber creak open.

"Ah, perfect timing," Mingxia says, smiling. "Your honors, I'd like to call Doctor Lars Gottlieb to the stand."


	56. Set You Free: Chapter 36

Lars Gottlieb doesn't look at Hermann as he passes through the gallery to the front of the chamber. He seats himself in the witness stand as Hermann grips the ledge in front of him, leaning forward, gritting his teeth as he tries to keep from screaming.

 _You knew!_ Hermann thinks, barely containing his rage behind a fearsome expression. _You were part of this and said nothing!_

"Dr. Gottlieb," says the leftmost judge. "You say you have evidence to present to the court that will affect our decision to move forward with this case?"

Lars nods, sitting upright, cutting as haughty of a figure as Hermann has always known him to be. No shame or guilt playing across his features. "Yes. There are aspects to the A.L.I.C.E. project that the court has not been made aware of. I believe they will be pertinent in deciding whether the court finds that prosecuting Dr. Geiszler is a necessity."

"What aspects, Dr. Gottlieb?" the judge beside the last one asks.

"The A.L.I.C.E. project was discontinued because of an accident during the final stages of the research," Lars says. Hermann watches his eyes flick over to Newt, and knows Lars is searching for any sort of recognition, but Newt's back is to Hermann, so Hermann can't see how he looks. Lars continues. "There were only three witnesses to this accident. One of them is Dr. Geiszler, although it seems he has no memory of the affair. The second was Dr. Fudvi Chachar, but as his mind was destroyed by the aforementioned accident, he is an unreliable witness.

"The final individual was myself," Lars continues. Hermann hears Newt take an audible breath, sees him lean forward. There's an ache across the drift bond, a deep, full-bodied want, like a man dying of thirst who's found the first few drops of water. "I would like to explain what I witnessed that evening. A more nuanced picture of what occurred and whom blame can rest upon."

"Your honors," the prosecution jumps in. "Why has this witness only come forward now?"

"Perhaps his explanation of witnessed events will make that clear," Mingxia throws out. "May he proceed?"

The judges glance at one another, having a quick non-verbal conference, only capable by individuals who know one another quite well. Then the rightmost judge nods.

"Go ahead, Dr. Gottlieb," he says. "Proceed."

Lars nods. "Allow me to explain..."

~

_"What the shit is going on Lars? What is- FUDVI!"_

_Lars hears the shout from the doorway. He doesn't look back, knows that Geiszler is astute, can put things together very quickly._

_"I found him like this," Lars begins. His voice sounds so off, odd. It's a tremor, a pitched discordance, a tremble. Yes, now he feels his hands trembling just the same._

_"No, no, no, no, no, no!" Geiszler rushes past him, reaching out towards the Pons unit strapped to Dr. Chachar's head, but something makes him pause, something keeps him from yanking the godforsaken thing off the poor boy's head. "Lars, what does the count clock read?"_

_"Why does that-"_

_"I was connected to it by myself for less than two minutes!" Geiszler shouts at him. "I put a failsafe in, and this one sure as shit doesn't have that. Now what does it fucking read, man?"_

_Lars checks the device. "It- it seems as if he's been connected to Alice for seven minutes and fifteen seconds."_

_Geiszler moans. "Fuck! Let me see the DEEG!"_

_He pushes past Lars, coming around to the machine, but the lines are pure chaos, the screen glitching out, erratic jolting waves spiraling off in all directions. This should not be possible, should not exist, as if whatever is connected to this unit is purposefully distorting the data._

_"Shit, shit, shit, shitshitshitshitshit!" Geiszler yelps. "We need to get him out of there, Lars."_

_"Just turn off the bloody-"_

_"No!" Geiszler says. "The shock of the disconnect- look, I've explained my theories about the hivemind a thousand fucking times. If he's too far into the drift with them and we try to pull him now... It could snap his fucking mind apart!"_

_"Do you have any better options, Dr. Geiszler?" Lars shouts. "Please, provide them if you do!"_

_Geiszler glances between Dr. Chachar, who is propped up in a medical chair, body shaking and seizing, and the Kaiju brain known as Alice, floating peacefully in its tank. Lars entered the room perhaps thirty seconds before Geiszler, and he has done nothing in that short time, but stand and stare and wonder if this is what it was like for his son: watching an individual he cared about in the throes of distress while in the grip of the hivemind._

_"Fuck," Geiszler says, shutting his eyes, balling fists into his pants. "Where's the other half of the goddamn Pons."_

_"You aren't seriously considering-"_

_"Didn't you just ask me what the other options were?" Geiszler snarls. "I'm gonna get him out of there. Help me set up the connection."_

_Quickly, Lars retrieves the other half of the Pons unit from where it lies discarded on a nearby desk. It seems as if Fudvi has jury-rigged a connection to the Kaiju brain, probably from Geiszler's old plans, and now Geiszler snatches the helmet from Lars’ grip, splicing the ends of the wiring with nimble fingers and rubber gloves, somehow not electrocuting himself in the process._

_"I have no idea if this will work," Geiszler says, dragging a chair over and sitting in it. "I've never had to wire a unit like this or tried to break through into an already established link. And who knows if we're even drift compatible... shit." He grips the Pons in both hands, staring down at it. Quiet for a long moment, the longest Lars has ever heard Geiszler be. As if the decision was not already made when they'd found Dr. Chachar like this._

_How long?"_ _Lars asks, moving to the unit controls. "You must give me some sort of idea. If I cannot read the DEEG, I will need a time for the automatic shut down."_

_"Disable it," Geiszler says, fitting the Pons onto his head. "This link isn't getting cut unless Fudvi and I cut it from our side."_

_"Are you mad?" Lars snaps. "You're as liable to be caught in whatever's holding Dr. Chachar!"_

_"I'm responsible, Lars!" Geiszler shouts. "Me, okay? He's doing this because I didn't give him what he needed and now he's decided to be a fucking idiot and get it himself. Which means I'm not coming out of this drift without him. That's a goddamn promise."_

_"And yet you would make me responsible for your own death, if I do this!"_

_Geiszler snorts. "You sound just like your son, you know that? Except he's about a thousand times braver and knows when the hell to trust me. Now disable it and send me in."_

_Lars glances down at the controls. Well, it isn't as if Geiszler can see from this angle, so... he pretends to fiddle with disabling the countdown, flicking on the five minute timer as he does so. Even five minutes sounds like too long, but he isn't sure how much time Geiszler will need, and what he is even planning to do. It isn't as if Lars has ever drifted with someone before. Geiszler is the expert, with only two drifts under his belt._

_"Are you ready?" Lars asks, hand hovering over the button._

_"If something goes wrong..." Newt begins, glancing over at Fudvi, then back to Lars. "Tell Hermann I'm sorry for doing this to him again."_

_Lars freezes, a sharp intake of breath, the icy resolve in Dr. Geiszler's gaze cut through with a bone-deep pain. An aching certainty that he might not make it through this, but a need to try anyway. Resolve is fickle when people are met with circumstances they claim they can overcome. Lars sees Geiszler wear that resolve to risk himself - to sacrifice for the greater good, or even for someone he cares about - like an old, well-loved coat, and though Hermann might believe his father understands nothing about him, in this moment, Lars understands what his son sees in this man._

_So, if his hand hovers an extra moment over the power, if it's just that much harder to press the button, it's because he might just be killing the person who loves his son in the way he never could._

_But he does it anyway._

~

The room is silent when the senior Dr. Gottlieb finishes speaking. Newt stares down at the table. Except that's not really true, because his eyes might be looking down, but his mind is whirling, stretching and stirring, pulling aside the curtains, rummaging through the closets, tearing up the floorboards, looking for any hint, any sign of Lars' tale in his memory. It should be there, like all the other times a memory was restored, it should come back to him in a flash, a rush, everything should, except there's nothing there. The other memories were distorted, or falsehoods created by the hivemind, or not his own. But this... it just doesn't exist.

"What happened after that, Dr. Gottlieb?" Mingxia asks.

Newt can hear Hermann's raspy, angry breathing behind him, can feel the rage boiling across the drift bond, the urge to leap over the gallery and assault his father. He can feel it in his own chest, heart rate speeding up, fists digging into his legs, the pain and anger crossing channels, until Hermann's rage is Newt's- but no, Mingixa said they must remain calm and quiet. This isn't going to fix anything.

Look at Newt, being the logical, _unemotional_ one for a change.

 _Calm down,_ Newt thinks, closing his eyes, nudging the connection. _Do you care more about vengeance or getting the truth?_

The feeling returned is frustrated, but the anger cools, and Newt's own heart rate returns to a normal state.

"I stayed through the drift, " Lars continues, as Newt opens his eyes again. He's staring pointedly at Mingxia, relaying the story entirely to her, as if he's practiced it with her a thousand times before. "Dr. Chachar stopped seizing once Dr. Geiszler established a connection. However, when the automatic shut down activated, I could get neither of them to awaken. I assumed the strain of the drift had incapacitated them, and summoned medical staff to see to them."

"Why were you even present, Dr. Gottlieb?" Mingxia says. She folds her arms, tapping her foot, pursing her lips as if anticipating an answer long forthcoming. "How were you connected to the A.L.I.C.E. project?"

"The project was commissioned by Admiral Calvin Jefferson," Lars states. There's a chittering in the gallery; Newt already knew this, but he supposes news hasn't widely spread yet. He doesn't look back, but he has a feeling that the look on Jefferson's face right now is pretty close to murderous.

Newt is taken aback, however, as Lars continues, "However, the nature of the project being as experimental and risky as it was, the Admiral did not wish to associate himself with it until the time was right. This meant his ability to oversee the actual workings of the project was limited, and thus, needed someone who could monitor their status and report to him.

"I was that individual," Lars explains. The chittering increases. "It was my job to ensure the team was hitting the necessary deadlines. Otherwise, the project would not be completed in time."

"In time for what, Dr. Gottlieb?”

"In time for the next general assembly. You'll recall that a new Secretary General was voted into office in December of 2027. The council votes one of their members into the position, but they can be swayed by popular opinion, and generally there are a few members who stand out as potential candidates. Admiral Jefferson was not one of those individuals. However, this was also quite soon after the end of the war, and fear of a new Breach opening was still high. The Admiral believed that if he presented a legitimate, established connection to the Anteverse that could be exploited for humanity's gain, he would be seen as a proactive and capable leader, defying the council's previous status quo of defensiveness and focus on measures like the Wall of Hope instead of the Jaeger program. This would secure him the position."

"So, this was a power grab, then?" Mingxia asks.

"From the way it was presented to me, yes," Lars says.

"And what was your reasoning for assisting the Admiral in this program?"

"Unlike, the Secretary General, the council position is voted on by whatever governing body each country has established. In my case, the _Bundestag_ , our federal parliament. I was jockeying for the position at the time, and the vote would be taking place in the new year." Lars pauses a moment, taking a breath. "I shall admit, politicking has never been my forte, and after the destruction of the Wall, my ideas were no longer considered very... workable." Newt hears Hermann snort behind him. "But the Admiral has quite a number of connections in the Parliament who could be persuaded to vote the correct way. It was understood that my helping him would lead to my securing the council position."

"So, what does this all have to do with the drift you just described?"

"The project was a failure, Ms. Xié. The Admiral believed that Dr. Chachar and Dr. Geiszler's expertise would provide results, but it became clear that the nature of the hivemind would make a stable connection extremely difficult. I believe that whatever caused Dr. Chachar to end up in that chair, it was related to the time of the vote drawing near, and pressures that the Admiral placed on the doctor to produce results."

"Your honors," the prosecution says, finally speaking up. The woman looks just as mystified as the rest of the room at Lars' story, only remembering to do her job at this moment. "This is a wild story, and while I respect Dr. Gottlieb's dedication to his position, I would ask where his proof for these claims are?"

Lars smiles, lifting the case he brought in with him. "How good of you to ask. This case contains all remaining data collected from the A.L.I.C.E. project, including the more illicit aspects that might interest the judges. None of it shows up in the PPDC databases, because the Admiral had them wiped to protect himself. Two evenings ago, I received a late night visit from the Admiral. He has been holding onto this data - it's quite valuable if sold to the right buyers. He told me to keep this case safe, and I have done so. However, I expect he did think he would be getting it back afterwards."

 _He's a cheeky fucker, just like Hermann!_ Newt thinks, biting back a smile. He does glance back now, and Jefferson is as red as a cherry and liable to pop at any moment.

"And what use is this data, Councilor?" The first judge asks.

"I've looked over what's contained in here, and I'm certain there's enough in here to show that the blame for Dr. Geiszler's possession cannot be solely laid at his feet. After the A.L.I.C.E. project, I hypothesize he was partially, if not fully being controlled by the Precursors, and cannot be held accountable for any of his actions."

The silence of the room is broken by screams, as Jefferson begins yelling, jumping up and lunging for the witness stand. Chaos breaks out in the room, reporters scrambling to take pictures, the bailiffs restraining the Admiral, but Newt ignores all of it, none of it matters at this moment, because if what Lars says is true...

 _It isn't my fault_ , Newt thinks. _But it is? I made the choice, I drifted, but only to save him. But I still chose it. But it was the only option I could see._

And the weeks of unknowing, the weeks of doubt and uncertainty, of not knowing, they've all lead to this moment, and he finally has some sort of an explanation. But the knowledge doesn't change anything. Because he still has no idea how to feel. Lars just said he can't be held accountable, but... but he still made the choice. So, isn't he somewhat accountable?

A firm hand grips Newt's shoulder, and he snaps his head up, breaking out of the reverie he was in. Hermann is leaning over the railing, gently shaking him.

"They've called a recess," Hermann says, motioning to the judges who are filing out of the room. "Come on, darling. Let's take a walk."


	57. Set You Free: Chapter 37

The Hague security brings them up to an upper floor that is cordoned off from press access. Newt's party files quietly out of the elevator, with Newt and Hermann trailing in the back, Hermann's arm twined through Newt's. Newt hasn't spoken since they left the court room, his gaze distant. Hermann worries for him, knows the look on his face: the same one he used to wear every time another Jaeger fell, another pair of pilots perished and all their calculations and dissections and bickering arguments were unable to stop it. Feeling guilty, even though his guilt is unreasonable.

Illia is watching them, and with a few words, he draws the attention of the rest of the party to the crowds outside, giving Hermann and Newt a chance to slip away down the hall. There's security crawling all over this floor, and Tanaka is not so oblivious as to not follow them a few paces behind, still playing guard dog while Newt is in custody. So, they're not alone, but they've got some more privacy than the would've had in the group.

Hermann is still riding the wave of rage he felt in the courtroom, watching his father on the stand. Showing off his knowledge, knowledge he had purposefully kept from them all, knowledge that could've saved them all of this pain and trauma since Newt's capture if he'd just bloody _told_ them! Of course, he was probably trying to save face, keep his reputation intact, rather than reveal another failure under Lars Gottlieb's belt to the world. But still, Newt's life was at stake! Didn't that matter more? Wasn't saving the man his son loved a higher priority on the gods-damned arsehole's list?

They're still missing so many pieces to the puzzle. What caused Fudvi to perform the drift? What happened during the drift? What about afterwards? Was one drift enough for the possession to take hold? Who knew about the end of the experiment? The explanation Lars gave created as many questions as it answered.

And speaking of missing pieces...

"Newton," Hermann says, squeezing his arm gently. "Your memories, are any of them coming back?"

"Hmmm... oh. No," Newt replies. He frowns, like he's trying to see if he can find any of them, but then shakes his head. "Still nothing. Just... a void. The void."

"Nothing there at all?"

"It's not... It's not nothing. It's literally a void. I don't know how to explain it."

"Ahh. Well."

"Are you okay, though? I thought you were gonna go after your dad in there. Jefferson beat you to it."

"I'm, well, I'm alright. I feel miles better now that I'm not in the same room with him."

"Yeah, uh, about that..."

Hermann freezes as he sees Lars step off the elevator. He feels Newt's arm tighten around his own. He's glad for it, when Lars turns and spots them, so that he doesn't lunge pell mell down the hall, as fast as his legs will take him, and deliver a swift crack of his cane to his father's cranium.

"Do you want me to tell him to fuck off?" Newt asks as Lars approaches them.

"I doubt it would do any good," Hermann mutters, before straightening up, keeping Newt's arm wrapped tight around his own.

"Hermann," Lars begins, stopping in front of them both. "I would speak with you privately."

"Whatever for, father _dearest_?" Hermann growls. "You're apparently well acquainted with my fiancée already. Anything you would speak with me about can be said in front of him."

"Fian- ah," Lars replies. It gives Hermann a little ease that Newt looks pleased at the use of the term, despite the current circumstances. "I suppose congratulations are in order, then."

"Congratulations?" Hermann sneers. "Do you honestly think I'm going to believe you're genuinely happy with my choice in partners, after everything that's happened? After everything you've done? _Mein Gott_ , father, you knew and you said nothing! At any point during our last conversation, did it occur to you that this information would have been _helpful_ to us?"

"It would not have. Any indication to either Agent Finch or the Admiral that you knew about what had occurred, and I believe they would've dispatched you much more quickly."

"So, you left us in the dark? Purposefully defenseless, no hints, no help whatsoever-"

"It was you," Newt says - interrupting Hermann - jutting out an accusatory finger at Lars. Both Gottlieb men fall silent, wearing the same confused expressions. "You hired Mingxia. 

" _What_?" Hermann yelps, but Newt is pushing on.

"It makes sense, right? A mysterious wealthy benefactor, a pricey lawyer that shows up right after you have a blow out with your dad, but refuses to say who hired them? And she had access to documents from the A.L.I.C.E. project, which would make a lot more sense if it was someone on the project providing them to her. And Ming, she said she knew we would win, she kept saying, like she knew the evidence was out there. Because _he_ knew it was out there."

Hermann gapes at him. It cannot possibility be true. Preposterous. Unacceptable. Newt has obviously cracked, finally. And just when they were starting to build a relationship. Or perhaps he's dreaming all of this, and he'll wake up quite soon, because Newt's accusation, it's utterly-

"Astute, as always, Dr. Geiszler," Lars says, a hint of a smile peeking at his mouth. "I am just surprised you did not realize this sooner."

"I'm having a stroke. I must be," Hermann says. "I swear I just heard you agree with Newton's accusation that you hired his lawyer."

Lars sighs. "You have always been a tad dramatic, my son. If I had told you that I hired Ms. Xié right after our disagreement, would you have believed it was done out of good faith?"

"Of course not!" Hermann snaps. "You told me to abandon Newt. Why would you want him saved?"

"That is what I feared," Lars says, nodding. "You would have refused the help."

"He totally would have," Newt says, joining in with an agreeable nod, the bloody _traitor_. "He's really fucking stubborn like that."

"I still don't understand. You told me to leave him," Hermann insists. "You were adamant that I was making a mistake."

"And you were adamant that you were not," Lars says. "You were wholly committed to him. I have never been able to convince you otherwise when you show that level of dedication. I realized after our talk that it would be useless to try."

"So, you decided to help instead?" Newt asks. "Since when do you ever compromise with your son? Like, no offense, dude, but I spent years listening to Hermann rant about you and the Wall and how you could never let him be right, like… _ever_."

Lars smiles. "You truly remember nothing from the A.L.I.C.E. project, do you, Dr. Geiszler?"

Newt shrugs. "Not a lot, no. Don't even remember you or Fudvi. It's fuckin' weird."

Well," Lars says," I hope, someday, that you do."

"Okaaaay,” Newt says, raising an eyebrow. “That’s not mysterious or anything..."

"This- this changes nothing," Hermann says, spitting out the words with a venom that's bubbled up from under the surface. "Why are you here? Do you expect us to be grateful that you deigned to assist us at the last possible moment, with the least possible damage to your own reputation? I _know_  you aren't telling us everything."

Lars sighs. "I had hoped you might be in a place where we could have a conversation, perhaps establish a fragile truce. However, I see I have overestimated your ability to handle the revelations from the courtroom in a rational, unemotional manner."

"That has always been your problem, father," Hermann snaps. "You divest emotion from logic and are the poorer for it. I am utterly _furious_ and I shall likely be for quite a long while."

"I see," Lars says, nodding. "Then I shall not bother you further today. When you are ready to talk, I will listen."

"You presume I will ever be ready," Hermann says as Lars turns to leave. "And you promise to listen. When have you _ever_ listened to me, father? Why should I believe you _this_ time?"

He has to stop talking, has to swallow back the anger, the crack in his voice. Because it was never Hermann in the right, never Hermann's point that was valid. It was always Lars’ view, Lars’ expectations, and Hermann took it for years, bucked up against that wall like a crashing wave, breaking against it. Until he broke one last time and went searching for someone who would listen.

And he found Newt.

Lars pauses, glancing back at Hermann. "I am learning many new things, in my advanced years, Hermann. A good mind never considers itself as having all the knowledge it will need. So, I am learning to listen when my children tell me that something is important to them. Perhaps, if I had listened when you warned me of the Wall's fragility..."

Hermann's jaw drops, because Lars… Lars has _never_  acknowledged, never in the last decade, even hinted in their few interactions that he might admit that Hermann was _right_.

"Take care, my son," Lars says. “And congratulations on your engagement. You chose well in a partner.”

Then he walks off. Hermann watches him go, frozen in shock.

"So, um, that was weird, right?" Newt asks when Lars has re-entered the elevator.

Hermann metaphorically picks his jaw up off the floor and nods. "I might ask you to pinch me in a moment to make sure- _bloody hell_ , Newton, I didn't actually say to do it!"

"You looked like you needed it! Anyway, are you okay? I'm pretty sure that was not how either of us expected that conversation to go."

"I don't trust it. I don't trust _him_."

"Mmmm, I mean, he did hire a lawyer to save my ass..."

"Are you honestly going to defend him? To _me_?"

Newt shrugs. "No. He's your dad, and I'm not that much of a fucking masochist. But, like, you've gotta admit, that was a surprising twist in the epic and ridiculous mystery thriller our lives have turned into."

"Don't be so pat in your assessment, Newton," Hermann says, sighing. "Our situation is far too complex to be the plot of an Agatha Christie novel."

"Don't knock the queen, dude," Newt says, nudging him. "So, uh, I guess we know how Fudvi's memory got into my brain now."

"Yes,” Hermann agrees. "I'm quite relieved to have been right. You were driven to perform the drift out of desperation to help someone else. I would expect nothing less from you. I only wish we could know what occurred during the drift, and only yourself and Fudvi know that."

"I think I have an idea about how find that out," Newt replies.

Hermann opens his mouth to ask how, when Tendo calls out for them. The recess is over. The judges have completed their assessment, and the decision awaits.


	58. Set You Free: Chapter 38

Newt fidgets in his seat, springing up when the bailiff calls for the room to rise and the judges re-enter. His body is wound tight, capable of exploding in joy or despair, riding an equilibrium of anticipatory terror as the judges seat themselves. He swallows and drops back into his seat, feeling a bead of sweat crawl down the back of his neck; whether from being overheated in this suit, or a nervous sweat, he doesn't know.

All of his grandstanding about doing the right thing, not letting Pentecost or Reyes take the fall for his sins, and now the court's eyes are all on Newt. He is small in comparison to the vastness of what he’s accused of, and he is scared. He never had the courage of Mako. He cannot be her; the best version of himself doesn’t feel like enough. The judges' bench is high, towering over him. He has to remind himself that there isn't mud under his hands, no rain dripping through his hair, no monster bearing down on him. The eyes boring into him are wholly human, though the end result could be even more prolonged and horrible than being swallowed by Otachi. He should ask Hannibal sometime which he thinks would be worse.

He is rooted to the spot. He is swallowing the bile in his throat. He is gripping his fingers into the chair, avoiding splinters only because these chairs are so well polished and made. Maybe dozens of men and women have sat here, having the same reaction, gripping their fingers into this chair, waiting for their lives to be unmade. Though, the thought of what other kinds of people would sit here turns his stomach. He isn’t like them.

The leftmost judge clears her throat. Newt's gaze snaps to her; her expression is implacable, as if she's about to place her food order, not decide whether he should be tried for war crimes. He can't really blame her for being so fucking stone-faced. What it must take to look genocidal maniacs in the eye on the reg and tell them that they're spending the rest of their lives in a cell, or worse...

"Dr. Geiszler, please rise," she says.

Newt's grip clenches against the smooth, polished wood, and he pushes himself up, taking the chance to glance backwards as he does so. He sees Hermann for an instant, and if there was ever a point that Hermann Gottlieb could lay himself bare in just a look, it would be this one: hopeful and hopeless, loving and grieving, awed and humbled, and no matter the outcome, for someone to look at him like that, for _Hermann_  to look at him like that...

In all this Precursor-cursed world, there has never been anything as good.

"Dr. Geiszler, we have reviewed the evidence provided by the senior Dr. Gottlieb,” the judge begins. “We have heard testimony from both parties as to whether your actions constitute offenses handled by this court. We are ready to make our decision. Is there anything you feel the need to add, before our verdict on whether your trial will go forward?"

Newt glances down, fidgeting with his shirt sleeve. Words coalesce in his mind, protestations and defenses, arguments he could try and fail with. His mouth has always gotten him in trouble. Too blunt, too confident, too much to be around. No real friends, lovers spurned by his chaos, and relatives whittled to near nothing.

But Hermann is here. Illia is here. Tendo is here. Pentecost and Reyes and Lambert are here. Mingxia is here, even Hermann's father, and Hadiyya in spirit, if unable to attend today. They're here for him. To support him and fight for him. They're the only reason he's still alive, the only reason his mind is still intact, the only reason he's not still under the control of a hivemind. He's greater for their company, and poorer for their loss. So, he doesn't need to say anything to the judges, the lawyers, the masses of military officials and reporters. The ones who matter, they don't need a speech to convince them that he should go free. They already believe it.

 _I think you'd like this little family, Mako_ , Newt thinks. _I wish you were here to see it._

"No," Newt says, shaking his head. "Nothing I could say would change everything that's happened. So, yeah, no. I'm good."

Amazingly, the first judge's mouth wavers, the barest hint of a smile.

"Understood," she says. "Well, then I shall deliver our verdict."

He's pretty sure the entire room holds their breath.

"Dr. Geiszler," she says, leaning forward. "You have spent your life in pursuit of scientific knowledge, taking risks some people would find immoral, unsafe, and the actions of a lunatic. I'm certain people have said these things to you before, so I won't belabor the point. Despite this, the court cannot help but judge these actions in the context of their times. You initially drifted with a Kaiju in the midst of a war that was set to destroy the entirety of civilization, and did so to understand their natures, in hopes of discovering how they could be stopped. On the second occurrence, it will be noted, that the drift occurred alongside your colleague, Dr. Gottlieb, the gentleman sitting behind you. Dr. Gottlieb, would you explain to the court why you volunteered to assist Dr. Geiszler in the second drift?"

The room shifts as all eyes turn to Hermann. He sits up a bit straighter, ever the good student, glancing quickly to Newt before back to the judge. "The neural strain of one mind joining with the hivemind is likely to subsume and destroy the human mind joining with it. It was theorized that drift compatible partners could act as a sort of defense mechanism for one another, sharing the strain and shielding their partner. I... It would've been unethical for me to have allowed him to risk himself in such a fashion a second time without assistance."

"Unethical?" The judge presses.

"Against my own ethics," Hermann explains, "as a member of the scientific community, and as a friend."

The judge nods. "You could not stand by and watch someone you cared about suffer. A very human, very noble desire. You did not know whether you would survive it, and yet you risked yourself anyway. Dr. Geiszler took this risk for Dr. Chachar, and there were consequences. The senior Dr. Gottlieb's evidence contained a DEEG reading that clearly shows a secondary wavelength in your brain post-drift with Dr. Chachar, that did not appear in any of your scans pre-drift. It seems that this was ignored by the medical personnel at the request of the Admiral. I would be very much interested in hearing his reasoning, if anyone can find him, as he seems to have vacated the premises. 

"And so, Dr. Geiszler," she says, looking back to Newt. "Our question becomes, with the evidence validating the senior Dr. Gottlieb's testimony" - and Newt almost screams _YES!_  because Mingxia came through, and so did Lars, which is weird to think about- "can we find you liable for the consequences of your attempt to save another person's life? Can we say, without any doubt whatsoever, that your actions of risking that drift with Dr. Chachar were unreasonable, were outside the scope of what any other person in this court would attempt if one of their family or friends were in a similar situation?

"We believe that we cannot," she says, nodding as Newt almost faints back into his chair, sinking to sit, ten years of relief washing over him in a single moment. "And therefore, we have decided that we will not be pressing charges against you any further. We are ordering that you be released from the custody of the PPDC, and we will be opening an investigation into the A.L.I.C.E. project, and the actions of all parties involved. If it is found you are responsible for other offenses committed during this project, you will be sanctioned by the court again. Until that unknowable date, you are free to go."

The room ruptures into noise, loud cheering from the gallery behind him, reporters shouting questions, officials yelling at each other or at the judges. It is chaos.  Likely, it will take a clearing of the gallery to bring the room back to order.

Newt feels a hand on his shoulder, he looks back, and Hermann is reaching for him, tears streaming down his face. Newt practically flips the chair in a scramble to twist and meet him over the barrier, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"We won, we won, _mein Liebling, mein Schatz,_  you are free!" Hermann sobs into his shoulder.

"Hey, hey, don't cry, I already ruined one suit, Ming is gonna kill me if I ruin another," Newt says, as if he isn't also a waterfall right now. Hermann bows forward harder, and Newt holds him up, grinning as other arms come around them both, cheerful embraces from Tendo and Illia and Lambert and Pentecost and Reyes.

The bailiffs clear out the rest of the room, until it's just their party, chatting excitedly as Newt and Hermann continue holding each other, unwilling to let go.

It is done, it is theirs, what they once lost, found again, fought to keep, and now have the chance to look forward to. A future. Together.

But there is one more mystery to solve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI YES SORRY STILL ALIVE YA'LL!! 4 chapters left, I'm gonna yell at myself to get my shit in gear and get them ALL posted before the end of the year!!!


	59. Set You Free: Chapter 39

_1 week later_

The greenhouse is lit by speckled sunlight through the spread branches of the arching tree limbs above. There is no smell of sea salt, no stillness of the grave, of memorial. Instead, life flourishes here, sprouting flora and crawling fauna, all of it built up by careful hands that know how to work the earth, if nothing else is left that he should know.

Fudvi claps the dirt off his hands and hears the greenhouse door open.

"Hadiyya, should I change into- oh," he says, when he looks to see Dr. Pitafi, the woman who says she is his sister, standing with two other gentlemen by the entrance. "They are here."

One is tall, limber, resting against a cane, wearing a button-down, slacks, and good shoes, far away from what is needed in a space like this. His face is pointed, nose thin, skin pale, as if it has not seen the sun in quite some time. But despite an appearance that should seem imposing, distant, cold, there is warmth on his features, a relaxation that seems new to his body, as if it has just been discovered again after a long absence. He gives Fudvi a nod and a smile, though they have never met in their lives.

The second man is shorter, wearing some sort of band t-shirt, a leather jacket and jeans, spectacles firmly set on his face, lenses that make him look younger than he likely is. His expression is one of befuddlement, of searching for something lost. And yet his eyes, oh, how odd, his eyes seem to know Fudvi, and they say those are the window to the soul, so perhaps he does? Does Fudvi know him? There are a great many people Dr. Pitafi says he knows. They come, they sit, and they speak with him, trying to get him to remember things he cannot, and sometimes when he strains to search for the memories, he is met with a screaming emptiness that sends him running back to the surface, to simpler things like the dirt under his nails and the insects creeping through his tomato stalks.

He lives a happy life, or at least, he believes it is as happy as he needs it to be. Dr. Pitafi - Hadiyya, as she asks him to call her - she provides for him, and says he does not have to work, simply must do the things he likes and try to remember what he has forgotten. He's suggested he get a job, something that doesn't tax him too hard, as he tires easily, both mentally and physically. But Hadiyya insists that he is built for greater things than being "some cashier at the local _Pret a Manger_ ," as if there isn't value in that sort of work. Still, he likes her well enough, and he is not so eager to engage with others, who ask him questions about his life that he has no ability to answer.

Hadiyya has explained what she can. Some things hurt to hear, not emotionally, but physically, like they invoke the emptiness, the maw that's sucked up his memories. He's sure they're somewhere down there, in the depths, in the darkness, if he could only just reach it... So, he knows there was some sort of accident. He was a scientist, he did a great sort of work in hopes of stopping monsters. But anything more specific, he can't hold onto it.

Last week, Hadiyya had come to visit with her wife, the other Dr. Pitafi. On the first night, she'd drawn him aside and asked if he would like to try meeting another person who might help restore his memories.

"I've only just discovered him, _Bhai,_ " she says. "He's the one you connected to during the accident. If anyone's got a chance of jogging something, it would be him, don't you think?"

He agreed with her, went along with it. It doesn't bother him really, the people she brings are pleasant enough, and it seems to bring her hope just to try it, even though each time has been a failure. It will likely fail with these two men as well, but he knows she won't stop trying. It is something he has grown to admire about her.

"Fudvi," Hadiyya begins, twisting her hands, a nervous habit he's noticed, one she's told him he used to tease her for. "This is Drs. Geiszler and Gottlieb. Newt and Hermann. They're the ones I've told you about, yeah?"

"Hello," Fudvi says, nodding to them. "Welcome to my garden."

"You grew all this, dude?" asks the short one, presumably the one she called Newt. "Damn, you've got a good green thumb. I'm the shittiest biologist that's ever gardened. I kill things that don't even need water or sunlight."

"He isn't exaggerating," the taller one, Hermann, says. "He once tried to keep a cactus on his desk and it lasted a single week before he splattered Kaiju blood all over it and it dissolved the whole potted thing."

"Look, I get very gesticulate-y when we argue, I can't help it," Newt replies, bumping shoulders with the taller man. "If you weren't being such an ass about the line that day, Mr. Prickles would've lasted at least another week."

"I cannot believe you named it that," Hermann says, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I cannot believe you _remember_  you named it that, with your normal attention span."

Newt laughs, a high, mirthful noise- Fudvi grips his head, wincing as the emptiness rises up to try and swallow it, push it away, _you've heard it, where? remember, remember, remember..._

"Fudvi?" Hadiyya rests a hand on his arm. She's always so concerned with him. 'Older sibling syndrome,' she'd called it once.

"I'm alright," he assures her. Newt and Hermann watch him, curiosity clear in their expressions. Not cruel or dehumanizing curiosity though. Just, some genuine desire to understand.

"What does it feel like?" Newt asks, taking a step closer. "When you try and access your memories?"

"It hurts," he replies, rubbing his temples. He'll need a dose of paracetamol if he keeps this up. Best not to think too hard right now. "Like I'm reaching for something that should be there but isn't."

"Hivemind?" Hermann asks, a question posed to Newt, who shakes his head.

"No, that was different, I think. It's an emptiness, right?"

Fudvi nods, surprised. "Yes. That's what I've been calling it."

"I feel it too, dude. I think we're both missing something. And I think what you're missing might be in here." Newt taps his forehead, smirking, as if he holds a secret he'll be chuffed to reveal soon enough. "And vice versa for me. You wanna try putting it all back where it belongs?"

This is the strangest conversation he's ever had. Or perhaps it isn't. He doesn't know, he never knows, and that's the hardest, most damnable bit. Because sometimes he dreams of tall, towering buildings, of scattered papers in a dormitory, a sweatshirt bearing the letters M and I and T tossed carelessly on a bunk bed, and once or twice, of a large, looming glass tank, something cold and angry throbbing inside of it. But all the flashes seem distant, disconnected, like they don't belong to him. Like they belong to someone else's life.

"Alright," Fudvi says. He steps out of the dirt, and onto the garden path. "What do we need to do?"

The greenhouse is behind the apartment that Hadiyya rents for him. He brings them upstairs, serves them tea on the good chinaware Hadiyya bought for him, the stuff he rarely uses, only for occasions such as these. Hermann thanks him warmly, commenting on how long it's been since he's had a proper cuppa, and Newt politely refuses, sitting quietly next to Hermann, pressed into him. _They're partners_ , Fudvi thinks, sipping his tea. _Have I ever had a partner, I wonder? They seem happy to have each other. That would be nice._

There's a silver briefcase sitting on his rug, one that, after the tea, Newt places on the low table and pops the locks on. The equipment he draws out is very odd looking: a skull-cap made of three wired, curved metal rods, bulbed at the end with red crystalline orbs. It's wired to a large unit that likely rests around the neck, and the wiring continues to the second cap and unit he pulls out, both connected to one another.

"Do you remember what drifting is, my dude?" Newt asks, holding the device up for him to see.

"I'm sure Hadiyya has explained it, but I don't tend to remember things related to... what I've forgotten," Fudvi ends, knowing it's a very odd thing to say.

But Newt nods, like it makes sense to him. "Yeah, so to explain it in a way you'll retain... we're gonna connect minds, and I'm gonna try and give you back what you've got and find what you took. Like, accidentally, it's not like you were trying to steal it. And if it works, we might see each other's memories and sense each other's emotions and shit like that. Cool with you?"

Fudvi nods, then finds himself hesitating. "Does it hurt?"

"It... can. Depending on whether you're compatible and whether you can stabilize your neural handshake. And I'll be totally honest with you, this kind of thing has never happened before, so I'm kinda flying by the seat of my pants here. But Herms and your sister will be monitoring our vitals, and they'll make sure we're okay. I'm sorry," Newt finishes, rather lamely. "I know this sucks, and this is fucking unfair, 'cause you shouldn't have to deal with this-"

"Newt," Fudvi says. "It's alright. If Hadiyya trusts you, then I do as well."

And there's some part of him, something tattered at the edge of the emptiness, that tells him he's trusted Newt before.

They seat themselves in two opposing armchairs, the wiring winding across the floor between them as Hadiyya and Hermann respectively help them set up. The device that Newt calls a 'Pons' is heavy, cool against his scalp, but there's a thrumming energy running through the metal rods, and for the first time in ages, he's excited about something. He smiles at Hadiyya as she helps him affix the unit around his head.

"Thank you," he says as she steps back. It's not just for helping with this, but for everything she's done for him, for taking the broken man he was, unable to process much in the early days, and slowly helping him to recover, to build back up a life. She's never stopped, and if nothing else has convinced him so far that she truly is who she says, it is this continued refusal to give up.

He looks across to Newt and Hermann, who are speaking in low voices, faces pressed close. Hermann's brow is furrowed, expression concerned, while Newt's is conciliatory, reassuring.

"If I see any hint of the hivemind-" Hermann is saying.

"You won't, babe," Newt cuts him off. "Not on his end at least. I think if this works, any influence they have left will be gone, and I'll be completely Precursor-free."

"I do enjoy it when your batty ideas work," Hermann replies, smiling. He leans in to peck Newt on the lips, and Fudvi looks away, feeling as if he's intruding on something personal, private.

"Wish us luck, you crotchety _deutscher_  bastard," Newt says when he pulls back. He looks to Fudvi, giving him a thumbs up. "You ready, dude? It's gonna be a real trip."

Fudvi gives Hadiyya a reassuring smile, and nods. "Go ahead, I am ready."

" _Insh'allah_ , _Bhai_ ," she says. She glances upwards for a moment, her lips moving silently, mumbling something to the heavens that only she can hear.

Then she presses the button.

 

_DOWN INTO THE BLUES AND WHITES AND FALLING YOU ARE_

 

_FALLING_

 

 

 

 

_FALLING_

 

 

 

 

_FALL_

 

 

_RUSHING FLASHES LIKE A STREAM LIKE SCATTERED LEAVES BLOWING IN A WINDSTORM_ **_YOU CANNOT FIND IT YOU WILL NOT_**

 

_enough_

 

_i'm calling your bluff, fuckers_

 

 

**_WEAK PATHETIC USELESS CRAVEN CREATURES OF DELICATE EASILY BROKEN FLESH YOU WILL FAIL YOU WILL FALL_ **

 

_fudvi_  

 

_fudvi_

 

_i have something of yours_

 

_do you want it back?_

_do you want to be whole again?_

 

_can you see?_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_yes_

 

 

 

 

 

 

_then take it. and give me back what's mine_

 

**_FAIL AN_ ** _D F **ALL Y** OU W **ILL F** AIL AN **D F** ALL yO **U**  WilL Fail anD fall you will..._

_fail..._

_and..._

_fall..._

_..............._

_.........._

_......_

_..._

 

.

 

 

 

 

_goodbye Alice_

 

 

 

_it's been good_

 

_well, not really_

 

 

_i guess i prefer mathematicians with a hero complex_

 

 

 

_and making my own future_

 

 

_fudvi_

 

 

 

_yes?_

 

_time to go back_

 

_rise_

 

_Rise_

 

_RISE_

 

 

Fudvi drops out of the drift as the last missing piece of the puzzle of his mind snaps into place, and when he opens his eyes, Hadiyya is bending over him, that anxiety-ridden look on her face that she used to get when she took final exams-

" _Baji,"_   Fudvi says, bursting into a wide grin. "I remember, I remember the house on Cross street and the smell of _Ammi_  cooking _puri_  on Saturday mornings and _Abba's_  booming laugh whenever he watched panel shows. I remember!"

_"_ _Alḥamdulillāh!"_ Hadiyya cries, wrapping her arms about him, his beloved older sister, always there for him, to encourage and protect and help him and he’d do anything to make her proud, anything-

Oh.

"Fudvi," a voice says, a voice he hasn't heard in eight years; even though he heard it just before, it isn't the same as truly hearing, as truly _recognizing_  the sound of someone long gone from your life.

Hadiyya draws back. Newt is leaning back in the chair, a twinkle of recognition in his eye, satisfied exhaustion written on his face. Hermann is tugging the Pons unit off his head, concern knotted across his brow.

"I'm alright, dude," Newt says, smiling up at Hermann. "It worked. I remember it all. And I bet Dr. Chachar over there does too, don'tcha, Fuds?"

Fudvi nods, drawing his hands into his lap, looking down, ashamed, liable to drop to his knees and ask for forgiveness, because what has he done? Oh, what has he done...

"Hey," Newt says, drawing back his gaze. "It's okay. You couldn't have known. And I should've been a better mentor and explained shit. I'm sorry."

"You tried to tell me, but I wouldn't listen," Fudvi insists. " _Allah_ , I saw it in your memories, the Precursors, the Jaegers, MegaTokyo-"

"Don't," Newt says, holding up a hand. "Forget it all. Get rid of it. You need to keep living as you're living, right now."

"Newton," Hermann says, resting a hand on his shoulder. "The rest of us need some filling in on what just occurred, if you don't mind."

"Right," Newt says, nodding and running a hand over his face. "Okay. You wanna start from your perspective that night, dude?"

Fudvi nods. "Yes. Well, it began with a conversation..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK SO I KNOW I'VE BEEN BAD ABOUT POSTING THIS. However, I'm finally, FINALLY done with my semester, which means my free time just blossomed. So I'm pushing to get these last 3 chapters out before the end of the year. There's some important plot revelations coming up here. Thanks for sticking with me, everyone who has <3


	60. Set You Free: Chapter 40

_Eight years ago_

_"Dr. Chachar."_

_Fudvi pokes the brain sample morosely another time, before glancing up. Lars is in the doorway, regarding him with the same implacable, stern expression he wears day after day, always serious, never a hint of silliness, as if he needs to make up for Newt's boundless frenetic energy and carefree destruction of the English language with all the "dudes" and "mans" and "fucking insert-word-here" he throws around._

_"Is Dr. Geiszler around?" Lars asks, shutting the door behind him. "I was hoping to speak to you privately."_

_"We're not attached at the hip, Dr. Gottlieb," Fudvi says, shrugging. "I'm not your son, if rumors are to be concerned."_

_Lars' eyebrow twitches, but otherwise his face remains the same. "I'd prefer you to not throw about unsubstantiated gossip in our work environment."_

It isn't unsubstantiated if I got it from the primary source, mate, _Fudvi thinks, twisting around on his stool. "So, what can I help you with? Interested in seeing the latest failure in our design?"_

_"The failure is what we need to speak on," Lars says, stepping towards the sparking unit that signifies their latest ruined experiment, version three hundred and fifty-seven of the prototype AI that is supposed to connect directly to the hivemind. "This is unacceptable. Time is running out."_

_"You think I am unaware of that, Dr. Gottlieb?" Fudvi asks, motioning to the discarded prototype. "I can't get the neural interfacing to correctly process the signals being sent out by the Kaiju brain. We have tried, and I can only work from the data of the first two drifts and Dr. Geiszler's memory."_

_"The Admiral is getting impatient, Dr. Chachar," Lars says, sighing. "We need time to present a successful prototype and engender public support for Jefferson before the council vote. If there isn't enough time, he will fail to become the Secretary General. We will both lose what we want."_

_"Yeah, well, you could bloody well help us out every so often, y'know," Fudvi grouses, folding his arms. "All you ever do is make suggestions from your office when Newt and I visit. You're never down here with the team, brainstorming, putting that supposedly amazing brain of yours to work."_

_"My role is to manage," Lars explains. "That is why the Admiral asked me to join this team. Your personalities are both chaotic and unfocused. You need someone to hone them. I confess, I can't understand how Hermann could do it for so long, but then, I am only so much like my son. Still, I am enough for the Admiral to trust me to keep Dr. Geiszler on track."_

_"A lot of managing done from your office then, sir?" Fudvi snaps. "Keeping Newt really focused on the task at hand?"_

_He's been getting more and more frustrated with Newt, who seems to care less and less about this project, Fudvi's project, his baby, that he's built up from nothing. He supposes Newt is as tired of the failure as he is, but has no emotional attachment to the project, and whatever he had been promised for helping must not be enough of a draw. Or something's changed. It's really this past week, when Newt returned to assist them, that he's seemed the least interested in being helpful. It's as if he's got other thoughts on his mind that are preoccupying him, making him unable to focus. Fudvi has asked if he is okay, since he's the lead of the project (even if Newt has more experience), and he needs to make sure all of his people are properly engaged. But Newt just shrugged at him, winked, and said that he was just excited about a trip he was taking next month._

_Lars sighs again, that obnoxious sigh of an older man who knows more than him, makes him feel all of fifteen again._

_"Let me show you something," he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He places it down on the table in front of Fudvi, and taps a small icon labeled NEWT._

_An email client pops up. Lars taps on the top message, and it opens, the name on the first line catching Fudvi's eye as he begins to read._

Hermann,

Been meaning to come see those cherry blossoms. I mean I don't think it's the right season, but whatever. I just need to see you. You don't mind, right? I've got some things I've been thinking about. Concerning us. So, if it's okay, just let me know. I'll fly out as soon as you say I'm clear.

Hope to see you soon,

Newt.

_"What is this?" Fudvi asks. "You've been spying on your son?"_

_"I've been impersonating my son," Lars says, tapping back to close the email. An inbox of a good dozen responses pops up. "In order to keep Dr. Geiszler from breaking confidentiality on this project, which he did by the third email, if you must know. Dr. Geiszler's attachment to Hermann allowed them to work in tandem to successfully close the Breach. However, his attachment means he is easily swayed by Hermann's opinion, and Hermann is much more cautious of an individual than we need for this to work. He would likely attempt to dissuade Dr. Geiszler from continuing this project. So, I manage."_

_"Bloody hell! That's messed up. Are you tracking everyone on the team like that? " Fudvi asks as Lars pockets his phone again._

_Lars shrugs. "Just Dr. Geizler. It isn't the best use of my time, but whatever the ethical concerns, if we lose Dr. Geiszler, we lose this project. The Admiral does not have enough confidence in the project unless Dr. Geiszler is a part of it. So, both of our ambitions require him. Unless you know how to replace his exclusive knowledge of what it is like to drift with the Precursors, we'll continue to need him for the time being." He rests a hand on Fudvi's shoulder. "You're a smart man, Dr. Chachar. You could become a leader in your field if given the chance. Don't waste this opportunity."_

_Fudvi turns to look at the discarded Pons units piled in the corner when Lars leaves._

_Lars has given him an idea. An amazing, dangerous, but potentially brilliant idea._

_Allah preserve him, he might as well give it a go. If Newt could do it, so can he._

~

"That bloody fucking bastard!" Hermann yelps, which is basically the worst Newt has ever heard him curse. Fuck, it's kinda hot. Not the time for that though.

"Deep breaths there, Herms," Newt says, grasping his elbow. "You're not wrong, but maybe don't scream so loud the neighbors will think we're murdering people over here."

"Sorry," Hermann grumbles. "I'm just- well, part of me would like to point out that I did say we shouldn't trust him..."

"Yeah, go ahead," Newt says, rolling his eyes. Hermann's right though. He's pretty sure Lars didn't include this little selection in his testimony to the court or the evidence he handed over.

"Fudvi," Hadiyya says, and they both look over to see him bent, face pressed to his hands.

"I am so sorry, all of you," he says. "I've caused so much pain by my actions."

"Dude, I told you-" Newt begins.

Hermann interrupts him. "Dr. Chachar. If you had been working alone, influenced by no one, this outcome would not have occurred. The Admiral played his part. My father played his part. Your team, Newton, and yes, yourself, were all essential to what happened that night."

"What did happen, though, between the both of you?" Hadiyya asks. "You still haven't explained that bit. Do you even remember?"

"I sure as shit do now," Newt replies. "And it's nothing like what I thought."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one this time. Just 2 chapters left! Fingers crossed I can get the last one up on the 31st or the 1st.


	61. Set You Free: Chapter 41

_There is a void. The shifting whites and blues he remembers from the first two drifts, those were subsumed by a black, writhing anger as soon as he connects to the link between Fudvi and the Kaiju brain. Or rather, what's left of it._

_When he drifted with Hermann, there was an order to the way he fell through the other man's memories, a cohesive structure that could be called a mind, a consciousness. This no longer exists for Fudvi. If his mind was a crystal vase, it has been shattered against the hard floor, pieces scattering all about._

_The shock of it makes Newt unable to comprehend what he feels for several moments. He gets disjointed flashes, things that could be memories, and out of desperation, he claws for them, taking them into himself. What does that even mean? How does somebody take in somebody else's memories?_

_How has this happened?_

_And then he hears a buzzing sound. If there was a sense of direction in the drift, it would be behind him, never changing from that point directly behind his skull, no matter how much he twists his metaphorical head. A growing buzz, like the sound of a revving chainsaw in the night air, and he is the short-skirted cheerleader running through the woods from the serial killer._

_The buzzing overwhelms him, and it starts to sound like voices, garbled and barely intelligible, an attempt at humanoid speech, like whatever is trying to communicate only has a scant few samples to work with._

_Newt tries to find some piece of Fudvi to connect with, some bit to hold onto, and he distantly wonders if the monitors are going crazy right now, if Lars is panicking, if he's called for backup._

_The buzzing is wide, and it is heavy, it hangs inside his eardrums except he doesn't have those in the drift, so it must be hanging on the neural receptors that direct him to feel weight or hear sound in that spot, and that doesn't make sense but it does? As much sense as how the buzzing pushes into him and clogs his nose that is not real, his mouth that is not there, his eyes that do not see. How he tries to scream as thoughts take shape in his head that are not his own, burrow into his neurons, and at once he can understand everything._

~

_This is how the Precursors laid their plans._

_The first drift shocked the hivemind completely, and the second, taking place soon after with Hermann acting as a link, almost a shield, gave them no opportunity to utilize that connection. But two Earth years is enough time in the Anteverse to engineer new technology. Plenty of time to analyze the data they collected, for the mass of collective minds to pool the information each of them had into a cohesive idea of the workings of the human mind. And then they began to plan, to consider whether another human might be foolish enough to take the risk that these humans Newton and Hermann had done._

_And how they could exploit it._

_So, when Fudvi connects, it is the perfect opportunity, an unsuspecting test subject for their first attempt at corruption. They begin to sever the necessary neural connections, turning off power to certain neurons and dendrites, like a selective weaning of an electric grid. Fudvi’s memories of this experiment, of anything that could remind him of this place, they’re all cut off from the rest of his neural network. Fudvi’s memories will continue to exist but disconnected from the rest of his mind – a gaping void of neural darkness. Once this process is complete, it will be easy to reroute neurons to create a space for the hivemind to exist and influence, guide Fudvi’s hand towards the Earth’s destruction._

_Then Newt connects to the network, and chaos erupts._

_A second human mind demolishes the Precursor’s theoretical models. The swapping of memories between Newt and Fudvi means that Fudvi’s surgically inspected and dissected neural networks are being flooded with new, foreign memories that slot themselves into odd little places, transferring information that the Precursors must now waste energy erasing again. And more concerning is that both these minds know things that, if combined, could potentially give humanity what it needs to destroy the Precursor’s threat._

_There is only one way to proceed. Newt’s memories must be hidden from his neural network, just as Fudvi’s are. The Precursor’s hosts must not remember how this happened, and Newt must think that he is to blame, that he gave himself freely to them for the taste of their power._

_The Precursors work quickly, trying to manipulate both minds at the same time, prevent memories from crossing over, from being accessible in their mind of origin and the drifting mind. It is not easy work. The Precursors do not understand the plasticity of the human mind, how new connections and associations can spring up when one part is damaged or destroyed. Their rending of Fudvi’s memories is more severe, and the shock of Newt’s connection has caused damage to his mind that the Precursors do not have time to fix, so he will be abandoned as a host choice._

_Newt would have gone the same route, completely disconnected from any memory of this time, if not for the timer Lars set on the drift. Ironically, Lars’ meddling means that the Precursors do not have time to sever every connective memory, and some of those surviving links – the name of the A.L.I.C.E. project, Katya’s voice – will help him access the memories he lost. The links that the Precursors do find are blanketed with their corruption, distorted. Without the connection to the host brain, they cannot sever them completely anymore._

_Newt will wake up to find himself unaware why he is in the medical wing of the Los Angeles Shatterdome. He will come to understand shortly that he is not in control, speaking words he does not wish to, moving his body in ways he does not ask it to. He will become familiar with struggling to the surface of his consciousness, of fighting the hivemind for control on a moment to moment basis, sometimes managing to come back to himself for a few seconds, perhaps a minute, every bit of it in sheer pain as the hivemind howls to be allowed access._

_They are too strong. He is not enough._

_But, no matter how deeply the hivemind tried to cut, to destroy, to unmake him, they cannot get rid of Hermann. He is too deeply woven into the fibers of Newt's being, literally seared into Newt's neurons in far too many ways for the Precursors to risk making Newt forget him completely._

_And if Hermann is still out there, if Newt might one day find a way to be set free, then he can’t give up._

~

"I think they're gone, Hermann," Newt says, deeply breathing in the scent of tea and electricity in the air. "I don't feel them anymore."

"Look, Newt," Hadiyya says, twisting the DEEG monitor to face them.

Two clear, strong, wavelengths. One for Newt, and one for Fudvi.

"It's done then?" Hermann asks, an anxious grip on Newt's shoulder, a hand twitching by his side that begs towards Newt's hair. "The hivemind, it no longer has any connection?"

Newt grins up at him. "Yeah. We can say sayonara to those fuckers because this brain is no longer hosting a vacancy for them."

Hermann bites the middle of his lip, looking pleased as he's ever been, liable to start dancing in the middle of the floor, if he were they type. He reaches down and unclips the strap that holds the Pons to Newt's head, yanking the whole unit off in a fell swoop and letting it crash casually to the floor.

"What the fuck, dude?" Newt yelps, jumping at the loud _bang!_  the unit makes as it hits the ground. "That's valuable fuckin' equipment!"

"You'll fix it if you need to," Hermann counters, jabbing him gently in the forehead with his index finger. "Listen well and listen good. Newton Geiszler, you are _forbidden_  from ever drifting with a Kaiju, _ever_  again. Do you understand me? I will tie you to our bloody bed if I even _suspect_  that you've _thought_  about taking another go at it."

"Don't give me motivation, you kinky-"

And then he pauses, because there are, like, other people in the room. Instead of continuing his thought, he reaches up, yanks Hermann down by the collar and gives him an over-exaggerated, lip-smacking kiss.

"I love you," Newt says when he draws back, leaving Hermann pink-faced and grinning like a fool.

"A lot of Fudvi's behavior after the accident makes sense now," Hadiyya says, helping her brother remove his Pons headset, though much gentler than Hermann when she places it on the ground. "He was barely cognizant for the first few months, couldn't even bloody feed himself. His brain was probably repairing itself, reestablishing connections as best it could. What?" she says when Fudvi makes a face at her. "There's not a lot they're unaware of by now, dear _bhai_."

"So that's all of it, I guess," Newt says, shrugging and tucking his hands back into his jacket. "All she wrote, as the saying goes."

"Thank you," Fudvi says, leaning forwards, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, like he used to when he was excited to share something with Newt. "You gave me it all back. I can never repay you."

"Yeah, well, don't start celebrating yet, dude," Newt says. Now comes the hard part. He almost hoped his little experiment would fail, just so he wouldn't have to lay the bad news at Fudvi's feet. "You can't let anybody know you're back to normal. Not yet, anyway."

"Why the bloody hell not?" Fudvi says.

Newt sighs. "The ICC is still investigating the project. With your cover as being... 'brain-damaged' - sorry, it's a shit description but it's what they think - then they'll probably give you an easier time or maybe even ignore you all together. But if you let everyone know you're back to normal, they won't feel any old way about prosecuting you. Until they finish their investigation and we know the verdict, your best bet is to lay low."

"He's right, Fudvi," Hadiyya says, nodding at her brother. "They'd likely throw the metaphorical book at you."

"Maybe they should," Fudvi says. He looks worn, lost, just like Newt felt not long ago. "I should have some sort of punishment for what I've done. Shouldn’t I?"

"You don't think eight years of hell is enough, dude?" Newt asks. "Not knowing who you were, what you're capable of? Nah. I think you've done your time."

It's so easy to tell somebody else that. Maybe someday, Newt will be in that place, where he believes it about himself. Not yet. But someday.

~

Hadiyya offers them the guest room for the night, but they politely decline.

"We've got a flight to catch back to- our current living arrangements," Hermann says, awkwardly sidestepping the fact that they've been laying low ever since the ICC ruling, not comfortable with returning to the Shatterdome, or having anything to do with the PPDC right now. The only lunatic involved in this scenario who is behind bars right now is Finch, and Newt bets dollars to donuts that Jefferson has other allies that might be looking to get in good with the Admiral by getting rid of two pesky, problem causing scientists.

"Let's just say we know a woman who knows a guy who's got a very lovely cabin in the wood somewhere," Newt supplies. "Maybe some time, you can both come see it."

"What are you doing, then, if not working for the PPDC?" Fudvi asks as they gather by the front door, Newt and Hermann preparing to depart. "What else is there to do with both your expertise?"

Newt glances at Hermann, who gives him a little smile, and then a nod of permission. They were discussing this on the flight over, on the off chance the drift worked, and Fudvi was restored to full capacity.

"Well..." Newt begins, wondering how he's going to explain this, to convince Fudvi to help. 

It's a wild, crazy, fantastical idea. But it just might work.

And for the esteemed, infamous, Kaiju-drifting, world-saving-and-almost-ending Drs. Geiszler and Gottlieb, those are the only kinds of ideas worth exploring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EPILOGUE IS GOING UP TOMORROW! COME BACK FOR THE FINALE! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!


	62. Set You Free: Chapter 42

_2 months later_

 

Okay, so Newt didn't quite make it to Japan’s cherry blossom season. By like... four months. But they can always come back next year, if his reputation has improved enough so that he doesn't have to wear this stupid disguise.

Hermann isn't wearing one, but Hermann doesn't need to cover his face; he got to keep his hero status through the war. He isn't still despised by millions of people, especially in the country whose major metropolis was devastated by a giant monster unleashed (however unwillingly) by his hand. Newt is only slightly jealous. It's just that, well, it's mid-summer and even though Japan is cooler than Hong Kong, it's still hot as hell to be in a hoodie with the hood up. They were gonna dye his hair blond, but first of all, _hell_  no, and secondly, he'd stick out like a sore, _gaijin_  thumb even more so than they already do. And this fake mustache is itchy. Newt twitches his nose, rubbing at it.

A hand comes up to swat Newt's hand away from his face.

"You'll rub it off," Hermann chides. "And then we'll have to go back to the hotel and reapply the glue."

"Where the hell are they?" Newt asks, glancing around the festival square. "They should've been here ten minutes ago."

"Not like you to be a stickler for the time, dear," Hermann says, only fondness in his voice. "We have plenty of time, don't fret."

"I'm not fretting," Newt says. "I'm apparently the only one who gives a shit if we're late and we miss the cast off, you'd think punctuality would be a fucking priority in a case like this."

He feels a hand on his shoulder, and glances up.

"We won't be late," Hermann says. He smiles and bumps his forehead to Newt's, very gently. "I know you want this to go right. We all do."

"Yeah, but, none of you..." Newt begins, then stops.

"None of us what?" Hermann asks, though he knows the answer, because they've talked about this, round and round, and maybe Newt shouldn't be here, maybe he doesn't deserve it. Maybe it's too soon.

He's wearing a new bracelet these days: a thin leather band with letter beads that spell WWMMD? Hermann told him he was being overdramatic when he'd first seen it but made no other comment. He plays with the beads when he's elbows deep in paperwork, a contact comfort to quiet his sometimes chaotic, anxious mind. He likes it because it's so simple, he could imagine her making it on a lark and giving it to him, a wry joke between them, an unvoiced admission of the guiding beacon he's trying to set his ethical standards by nowadays.

_What Would Mako Mori Do?_

"Oy! There you are!" Newt turns just in time to see Pentecost come barreling into their twosome, pulling them both into a tightly-squeezed group hug. "Mate, aren't you burning up in that thing?" he asks when he pulls away from Newt.

"I'm still a tat-covered war criminal to some people, dude," Newt says, shrugging. "I'll take a little sweat over getting my face beat in."

"Really sellin' it with the 'stache, there," Jake says, smirking.

There's another figure approaching, much slower and calmer. When he comes to a stop besides Jake, Lambert regards them both with a cool gaze: not unfriendly, but not impressed.

"You should take a hint from his appearance, Pentecost," Nate says, motioning to Newt. "If you were hoping for nobody to recognize you."

"Wait, I've got this." Jake whips the hood up on his jacket and spreads his arms. "Tada. Unrecognizable. Could not pick me out of a crowd if you tried, Lambert."

Nate's mouth quirks upwards. "I can always pick you out. You're the one who won't shut up about yourself."

"I can't help always being the sexiest man in the room. Well, depending on who's in the room," Jake says, winking at him.

"Do I get a vote on that?" Nate asks. "I think I should."

Newt starts snickering, and they both turn to look at him.

"Fucking hell, you win," he says, digging into his pocket. He pulls out a 5,000-Yen bill and slaps it into Hermann's palm.

"I told you," Hermann says. " _Months_  of this."

"What are you both on about?" Jake asks.

"Don't worry about it," Newt supplies. "Couple's argument. You guys understand, right?"

He can't hold back the shit-eating grin.

A familiar voice calls out. "What are you guys arguing about now?"

Raleigh and Tendo stride up to the group. Raleigh holds a paper lantern in two hands, carefully, as delicately as a big guy like him can. Tendo has a lighter that he's flicking the top of open and closed, anticipating its use.

"Never mind that," Hermann says. "It seems as if we're all here. Shall we?"

They follow the crowds down towards the riverside. Dozens of lanterns already float across the water, lighting up the night sky in an ethereal glow of yellow memorial. They trudge farther down than most people, wanting to avoid any large crowds or people recognizing their faces. The darkness is a good cover.

Newt holds back as they approach the water, and Hermann turns to look at him.

"What's wrong?" Hermann asks.

"I still feel like I shouldn't be here," Newt admits, picking at the fraying ends of his hoodie. "Like, I need to be able to live my truth, or some shit, and what happened was a little bit of everybody's fault. Including mine. I helped get her killed, Hermann. So why do I get to be here again?"

"Newton..." Hermann reaches a hand out, and Newt takes it, letting himself be tugged closer, into a warm embrace that he doesn't feel like he deserves some days, but those days are fewer now.

Newt tucks his face into Hermann's shoulder, not caring whether anybody looks on such a sight as strange. Two people comforting one another during a memorial ceremony for the dead can't be too uncommon.

"We all hurt the people we love, _mein Schatz_ ," Hermann mumbles, sliding his fingers smoothly into Newt's grip, running his index finger across Newt's engagement band. "Whether we mean to or not. We all live with regrets. But she would want you to be here, with your family, I think. She was very big on found families, you know? The ones who love you are the ones who matter, and all that."

"Can't imagine why," Newt snarks, heaving a great sigh and pulling away. He rubs a hand over his face, taking a sharp breath. "Okay. Let's do this. I'm so gonna cry though. Like, giant blubbery, snotty tears. It'll be disgusting, you might reconsider your marriage offer after seeing that."

Hermann laughs, squeezing and then releasing his hand. "I risked my life to save you from the Precursors and then nearly died saving you from a mad councilor conspiracy, and you think a bit of mucus is going to send me running? As if I haven't seen you cry before."

"It's gonna get really bad, dude," Newt says. "The worst yet."

They join the rest of the group at the water's edge. Tendo has already lit the candle inside the lantern, and Raleigh and Jake are standing side by side, each holding half of it. It seems appropriate, they all agree, to let them be the ones to cast it off.

"Anyone wanna say any words before we cast off?" Jake asks, glancing around the group. "Snazzy one liners, heartfelt speeches, screaming in despair to the heavens? Anyone?"

Nobody volunteers. Nothing seems good enough, it seems, to say good bye to Mako Mori.

Jake sighs. "Alright, well, let's go then, Beckett."

They lower the lantern, and push it off together, giving it just enough power that it glides forward smoothly into the gentle current. All eyes follow its trajectory as it joins the other lanterns on their journey down river. The paper lanterns slip across the waters, dozens of them, each a remembrance of those gone.

Gone, but not forgotten.

Newt clutches the beads on his bracelet. His other hand slips into Hermann's. Two points of clarity, two points of strength. One to remind him of who he is, and one to remind him of who he could be.

"Hey Herms?" Newt says, looking out onto the water.

"Yes, Newton?"

"Thank you."

Hermann squeezes his hand in reply, saying nothing.

There is no need to explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we come to our close.
> 
> I have so, SO many people to thank. This has been an amazing 9 months, and I want to thank everyone who was a part of it, because this fic wouldn't have gotten to where it is today without help from some fantastic people. (Skip down to the ~ if you just want to know what's next for this fic)
> 
> Firstly, thanks to nateobite for being my cheerleader at the beginning of writing this fic, letting me throw the early chapters at him, and drawing the art for the very first chapter. I'm not sure if you stayed for the whole ride but if you do read this at any point, know that I really appreciate the early boost you gave me.
> 
> Secondly, thank you to dont_be_hasty for taking on the beta duties for this fic from flipping CHAPTER 4 and staying strong for the last 9 months, reading over every chapter before it was published. I kept telling you that you could always tell me you were done and I would completely understand, but you kept going and I am, frankly, in shock and deeply grateful. You get free beta'ing help from me for, like, the rest of time (or the next 150k words, whatever comes first xD). You're amazing and helped over and over to weed out minor plot inconsistencies, odd wording, spelling and grammar errors, and overarching plot points that needed to be fixed. I'll forever be thankful. IN ADDITION: Thank you to burnt-confetti who did some Britpicking and legendary-zari for information on Pakistani British culture. Much appreciated!
> 
> Thirdly, in addition to nateobite, I want to thank the several other artists who drew things for this fic. Doodledroid/scribble-bot drew two fantastic pieces for this fic, and does great Newmann art in general. Check them out! There was also a commissioned piece done and I'll be damned if I can find it in my tumblr archive but it was of Hermann and Newt in Newt's cell after his nightmare, and it was so beautiful, and if anyone can remind me who did that I'd appreciate it. I can't honestly remember if any other art was produced for this but if it was I'm so grateful that anyone chose to illustrate any part of this.
> 
> Fourthly, there are so many commenters who stuck around for good portions of this fic to give me wonderful feedback. Just to name a few: snarky_fangirl, sylversmith, AniSenpai, TrashcanDad, aggressivefingerguns, elk1303, cajynn, hiddenindians, peppermintquartz, babbyspanch, Zzzz, sir_not_appearing_in_this_archive, AbusiveExclusive, torako, Raenefblu, iamnotninja, nikkernoodle, BeneathSilverStars, BleuMorpho, The_Scribble_Scribe. If I haven't named you here but you left comments, I still appreciate you so much, because every little bit of feedback was another boost to getting this fic out the door and into your hands.
> 
> Fifthly: Waldo, Lindsey, Sarah, Kerry, Too, and everyone else in chat who's been cheering me behind the scenes. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU A THOUSAND TIMES THANK YOU. I don't think I could have seriously done this without your support. You're all superstars.
> 
> ~
> 
> So, what's next?
> 
> I consider this the whole and complete version of Bring You Home, so no chapters will be added to this fic. I've realized while writing this that BYH is really more a between PRU and PR3 story than my actual version of PR3. So, it's way, way on the back burner, but in the future, if I ever do decide to write my version of PR3, it will be posted as a different fic, and will heavily include but not focus itself on Newt and Hermann. After all, the PR universe is about the collaboration of many people working to save humanity, and as much as I love these wacky, love-struck scientists, they're only a part of the whole. The rest of the pilots and Moyulan crew will come back into larger focus, and I'd like to flesh out more of the familial, platonic and romantic relationships I've hinted at in the fic. And of course some of my OCs are coming along for the ride, though the focus will stay mostly on canonical characters. Just, if I ever do write PR3, don't expect it for a while. This version of the universe needs some time to rest.
> 
> Ya'll, that's all I wrote. Thank you one more time, whether you read it and loved it, read it and were kinda "eh" on it, skimmed it, read a chapter and decided it wasn't for you, whatever. Thank you for giving it a chance. Like I said way back in chapter 1, I wrote this to heal my soul after PRU tore it apart. And while this helped, the fandom itself is really what healed it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to dont_be_hasty for all the lovely beta work they've done for this fic!  
> Thank you so much to @nateobite for illustrating this!
> 
> Find me on tumblr or [twitter](https://twitter.com/nighthawkms).


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